


The Dark Side of the Moon

by RosePond



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosePond/pseuds/RosePond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy/11 - The Doctor, as most people know him, is a lighthearted adventurer who's far too interested in seeing the universe to have time to worry about his past catching up with him. Though he should be. Because, like the bright side of the moon, he also has a dark side, and it won't stay hidden forever... (M rating will come into play in future chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Hello everyone! I had such a positive response to my first DW fic “I Knew You Were Trouble” that I decided to brave the waters and try another one, this time with Amy/Eleven.:)**

**~OOO~**

**“The Dark Side of the Moon”**

-Chapter 1-

“Doctor?” Amy asked casually as she strolled down the cobbled street next to him. The Doctor was preoccupied with fiddling with a setting on his screwdriver and didn’t even glance at her. Amy elbowed him in the ribs, a tactic which she had found increasingly useful when the eccentric, easily distracted Time Lord wasn’t paying her enough attention. “Doctor!” she hissed again. Finally, he lifted his head and looked at her, slightly irritated.

“Yes, Pond? Is it important?” The Doctor rubbed his side and widened the gap between them on the road, casting a reproachful glance at Amy’s elbow. “Also, _ouch_!”His gaze drifted back to his screwdriver and he fiddled with the sonic some more, finally giving it an exasperated shake and lifting it up to eye-level to squint at it. “This thing is on the blink and I can’t figure out why; it’s not like the Italians had sonic interference in the sixteenth century— _ouch_! Pond, _really_!”

Amy had smacked the Doctor’s arm with enough force that it would probably bruise, Time Lord healing genetics aside, and he finally came to a halt and turned to face his equally irritated companion. The Doctor found Amy standing several feet behind him, partially in the shadow of doorway from a nearby house, and she looked caught between glaring at him and casting haughty glances at passersby. Pocketing the sonic, the Doctor retraced his steps until he was back within speaking distance of his companion.

“Amy?” He looked between Amy, pressing herself into the door frame, and the throngs of Italians passing by.

“Doctor,” Amy countered, folding her arms across her chest and raising an eyebrow at him. Not a good sign.

The Doctor frowned. Amy looked cross with him; not an uncommon occurrence, but not one that made the Scottish girl great company either. Amy had been travelling with the Doctor for a fair amount of time at this point, and he’d come to realize that once she’d set her mind to something she was stubborn as a mule until she got her way. And right now she apparently wanted to discuss something, and appeared not to have any plans on vacating the doorway she’d planted herself in until that conversation had taken place.

“What is it, Amy?” the Doctor asked, trying to avoid being jostled by the crowds of shoppers moving past them, bumping him this way and that due to his suddenly stationary presence. One particularly burly man shoulder-checked him so hard that the Doctor stumbled forward and had to catch himself against the white stucco wall of the house. “Couldn’t we talk somewhere else?” he asked hopefully, rubbing his shoulder and looking balefully after the man who had lumbered on through the crowd as other, wiser, shoppers moved quickly out of his way.

“ _No_ ,” Amy said, her Scottish accent thick in the single word. “We can’t. Doctor, everyone keeps lookin’ at me and whispering. I’ve seen three women now look me up and down and mutter ‘ _cortigiana_ ’, before whispering behind their fans. What’s up? Are gingers that uncommon in this time period? Or is it something I’m wearing? We’re not exactly dressed for inconspicuousness, Doctor…”

At this comment the Doctor’s expression cleared and he glanced anew at Amy’s outfit. She wasn’t wearing anything unusual—well, unusual for her… in twenty-first century London; but as the Doctor took in Amy’s short leather jacket, denim mini skirt, tights and platform boots, in connection with her comment about being called a “cortigiana”, suddenly everything made sense. Of course, the fact that the Doctor had figured out why the locals were sending Amy a mixture of snide looks chased with condescending laughter wasn’t going to do him any favours when he explained it to his companion. He decided, therefore, that the safest thing to do would be to avoid answering directly. He quickly turned back in the direction they’d been heading.

“It’s nothing to do with your hair, Pond,” the Doctor said, taking Amy’s arm and trying to tug her out of the doorway. “Red is a common enough colour even now. Now we really ought to be going. I’m supposed to be meeting the Order of Altron at St. Michael’s in twenty minutes and we’re already going to be late—”

Amy would not be swayed. “ _Doctor_ …” 

He froze, hearing the warning in Amy’s voice; the tone she usually reserved for impending rants about him not being completely honest with her about something. Very slowly he turned back toward Amy and ducked his head slightly, glancing over at her. He was a tall man, had been so for several regenerations now, but Amelia Pond was an imposing girl despite being half a head shorter than him, and right now the steely look in her hazel eyes had the effect of making him feel about three inches high. “Er… yes?”

“The word, Doctor,” Amy said slowly, pinning him in place with her eyes. “What does it mean?” 

She spoke clearly, eerily polite, and it was the strategic calmness in Amy’s voice that cracked him after only five long seconds of holding her gaze. Wringing his hands, and avoiding meeting her eyes, he finally gave in. “Fine, yes, alright… I’ll tell you, but don’t say I didn’t warn you… other cultures and language barriers and all that… Are you sure—?”

“ _Yes_.” Amy snapped.

“They’re calling you _cortigiana_ , Pond. It means courtesan.”

Amy frowned at the Doctor. “Courtesan? Like a… a prostitute?” Her eyes snapped up to his with an appalled expression. Another pair of upper class women strolled past them just then, and, on seeing Amy, started whispering behind their hands. Amy quelled them with a murderous glare and they scurried past. “Look, I know this skirt is a bit on the shorter side for a girl in sixteenth century Venice, but that’s no reason to—”

The Doctor could sense a full-on Scottish tantrum coming and quickly took Amy’s arm, guiding her to the side of the road and away from the main crowd. “It’s not your skirt, Pond, though you’re probably right that it’s causing a bit of a…er… stir. Most men in this time wouldn’t be accustomed to seeing that much of a woman’s legs outside the…er… bedroom.” Amy raised an eyebrow and the Doctor blushed, rushing on. “But actually, it’s your boots.”

Amy blinked at him, thrown. “My boots?” she repeated, glancing down at her soft, leather, calf-high boots. “What’s wrong with these? They’re not even all that high! Maybe three inches…”

“Yes, but the thing is, in sixteenth century Italy only courtesans wore platform shoes. It was a way for them to stand out in the crowd, attract attention and all that…”

Amy was silent for a few seconds, processing this news. Then she swatted at him again, a gleam in her eye. “And you didn’t think that this would be important information to share with the class?”

“Well, it didn’t seem relevant at the time…” the Doctor muttered, anticipating Amy’s wrath and sidestepping her swinging palm just in time. Amy still looked furious with him, but he didn’t think that was entirely fair, after all, he’d been busy trying to work out a complicated message the monks had sent him and his mind hadn’t exactly been on current fashion trends.

“Right,” Amy said abruptly, causing the Doctor’s eyes to flicker back to her face. “You’re taking me shopping.”

He blinked at her for a moment, thrown by Amy’s sudden shift in attitude. “Sorry, I’m what?” he asked, a little confused, glancing between the spark in Amy’s eye and the distant tiled roof of St. Michael’s Monastery, far across the market plaza. He had a sudden ominous feeling that he was going to miss his appointment.

“You heard me,” Amy said, already marching through the crowd without waiting to see if the Doctor was following. “You drag me half way across the world and hundreds of years into the past to meet up with a group of dusty old monks, without, may I add, informing me of the dress code, so the least you can do is purchase proper attire for me. Besides,” And now she turned to face him, walking backwards with a mischievous look on her face. “The gowns the women are wearing are gorgeous! Now get out your credit card, mister, because I’ve got things to buy!”

“It’s not a … a credit card…” he found himself trailing off weakly, as Amy skipped merrily into the crowd, no longer caring about the gossip she was generating. “And the psychic paper isn’t really meant for frivolous shopping—Oh what’s the use…” He pocketed the small leather wallet and wound his way through the throng of shoppers, following the indignant gasps of the women and approving mutters of the men as he went.

**~OOO~**

Getting Amy properly outfitted was not an easy task for the Doctor. The first few shops Amy approached, plucking at fancy bolts of cloth and intricately crafted gowns, turned the Doctor away as soon as he began to try and engage their owners in the possibility of a sale. Of course, he knew the reason why and did his best to hurry Amy along to the next option before she could get too attached to any dress in particular. If only Amy had worn a skirt with a slightly longer hem—perhaps to her ankles, something that would cover her heeled boots—then maybe he’d be able to pass her off as a slightly odd country girl long enough to buy her something decent to wear. Though he’d never admit it, he knew that it was his fault for allowing his companion to come along on this trip without making sure they were both properly outfitted. But the fact was, the Doctor rarely slowed down long enough to think through such menial details as clothing, not thinking it important enough for more than a passing glance in the grand scheme of things, and he _did_ have a habit of picking up out-spoken travelling companions so… 

“Ohhh, this is it!”

Amy’s excited cry from down the crowed street ahead of him pulled the Doctor’s attention back to the present. He looked up and spied Amy’s red hair and pale hands pressed up against a glass window front. She was ogling whatever was displayed there with intense interest, barely sparing a glance for him by the time he managed to make his way through the crowd to her side. He was able to take in some sort of blue cloth before a large, solid belly pushed its way between them.

“Can I help you, My Lord…?” The shop keeper trailed off, the rest of his lavishly clothed body seeming dwarfed by his impressive stomach. He had an amiable expression on his face, though he cast a slightly suspicious eye over at Amy, as if unsure if she were with the Doctor or not.

“Uh…Doctor! Yes, that’s me! Ever so pleased to meet you, good Sir!” He braced himself to be turned away once more, feeling guilty for actually hoping to be sent on, because he was already nearly half an hour late to his meeting at St. Michael’s and that really didn’t look good when he professed to be a commander of Time and Space.

The shop keeper slanted his suspicious look toward the Doctor at this boisterous response, but returned his greeting cordially enough. “My Lord… Doctor,” he repeated uncertainly, but seemed to take the title in stride despite the Doctor’s odd appearance. “Can I help you, Lord Doctor? Are you looking for some cloth to outfit your Lady wife?” Here he turned toward Amy, who had finally torn her gaze from whatever outfit was in the display and come skipping up to the pair of them.

“My _what_?” the Doctor responded in surprise before he could stop himself, then met the shop keeper’s keen eyes and quickly cleared his throat. “Er… yes. The little lady is from…uh…the Highlands. Newly acquired and not yet trained up in the ways of proper, noble-y society, bless her.” At the end of this statement the Doctor slung an arm around Amy’s waist and tugged her to his side, pulling a startled “What are you doing?!” from Amy as she bounced awkwardly against his hip, and a raised eyebrow from the shop keeper. 

“The Celts are a known for their rather…barbarous women…are they not? Quite the spitfire in your new bride, eh?” the shop keeper acknowledged with a wink of camaraderie. “Though the dress of your Lady wife is rather strange to me, if you’ll forgive my comment, Lord Doctor. I’ve not seen others of her kin in such…. er…. revealing costume afore meeting you. Though their menfolk are known for being rather at one with nature in relation to their livery.” His wary gaze had returned and the Doctor thought it best to move things along.

“She’s from the far North. Very North. Very far. And she’s set her eye on some dainty in your window, Lord Weaver. Isn’t that right, er…dear?”

Amy, still pinned against the Doctor’s side, was looking at him as if she weren’t certain if he were drunk, teasing, or just a moron. “Let me get this straight…” she said at last, drawing out her words slowly and still eyeing the Doctor as if he were a few bricks short of a load. “You’ve finally decided this shop is good enough to get me the dress you promised me?”

The shop keeper was now looking at them as if he weren’t entirely sure if he’d been insulted or not, and the Doctor hurried on, moving a safe distance away from both of them. “Yes, right, exactly. None of the other places we looked at were anywhere close to the quality of craftsmanship in this store. Far superior, isn’t that right, Lord Weaver?” He cast a hopeful glance at the owner of said shop and was relieved to see that he looked mollified.

“The rest of the men on this street will try to cheat you,” he declared, turning to usher both the Doctor and Amy inside the small store before following after them. “I will give you a fair price, Lord Doctor. And my Lady wife is known throughout Venice for her taste and style; she will see that your new bride is properly attired.”

Amy looked at him sharply at this comment, though luckily for both of them the shop keeper had moved on ahead to summon his wife from a back room and didn’t notice. 

“Wife?” Amy hissed, but the Doctor was spared explaining by the jovial sound of a matronly woman appearing from behind a table piled high with bolts of cloth and various dress trimmings, exclaiming in a rapid stream of Italian at Amy’s outfit. Before Amy could protest, or further question the Doctor on what sort of scheme he’d cooked up, she’d been bustled away by the woman and a teenage girl who looked a few years younger than herself, leaving the Doctor behind to hash out payment details.

**~OOO~**

Amy, the Matron, and her attendant—who Amy had decided must be her young daughter—squeezed into the back room of the shop. There were two small windows to let in the warm afternoon light, a couple of wooden chairs, a table with scissors, thread and various other sewing supplies, and a small raised platform onto which Amy was quickly prodded. To her delight, the dress from the window was quickly produced and draped over the back of one of the chairs. The woman and her daughter chatted rapidly to both each other and Amy as they buzzed around her, measuring various parts of her body and then the dress, before sticking pins into the material to adjust it to the best fit.

Amy couldn’t wait to put that dress on. She was more into short skirts and tights as daily wear, but this dress was gorgeous, and besides, when else would she have a chance to wear one like it? Rory was dead set against fancy dress parties, and had complained non-stop the one time she’d managed to coerce him into attending one with her—though he had complained a lot less about them when she came over in her kiss-o-gram kit. She pushed the thought of Rory quickly from her mind. He wasn’t here right now; she was with the Doctor. Rory was part of a whole different world.

The dress she’d seen in this particular shop window was a rich peacock blue, empire waist style, with a white under chemise so fine it was almost silk. The dress had gold embroidery stitched along the bodice on either side of the lacework, and again along the split hem down its front, continuing finally around the base of the dress.

 It took the matron and her daughter a combined effort to bundle Amy into the dress, nimble fingers making short work of the various buttons and hooks in the back, followed by their tying on matching, elaborately embroidered sleeve covers over-top of the wrist-length sleeves of her chemise. The effect was strategically placed “poofs” of white silk that poked out between the multi-pieced covers at Amy’s elbows and shoulders, providing ease of arm movement. The ensemble was topped off with a gold cross necklace—a piece of jewelry all respectable noble women wore to proclaim their piety and purity to the world, as the Doctor would later explain, and then brushed Amy’s long red hair into gleaming submission down her back, pinning half of it up in a mess of intricate curls under a decorative pearl-studded hairnet.

In the end, a very little bit of sewing was needed to adjust the dress to suit her. The matron exclaimed over Amy’s slim form and proclaimed the dress “made for her” (or whatever the Italian equivalent of that phrase was). With the addition of a pair of soft, proper, _low_ -heeled boots (really, they would practically be considered flats back in Leadworth), Amy was declared ready to see her “husband” again. The whole process had taken less than half an hour, a miracle in Amy’s eyes, considering the whirlwind of activity that had gone on in that back room during her stay in it, but she felt a little flutter of excitement to show off her new outfit to the Doctor now that she was deemed “acceptable”. She’d show him that clothes really did make the woman.

**~OOO~**

Amy twirled into the main room of the shop in the wake of the Matron and her daughter, the long skirts of her opulent dress twisting tightly around her knees and then belling out around her legs as she turned in circles to show off her new outfit to the fullest advantage.

The effect this new look of Amy’s had on the Doctor when she was finally presented to him was highly satisfactory, Amy thought, and she swallowed back the smirk she wanted to throw him when his mouth fell open, instead dipping down into a very ladylike curtsy, the skirts of her dress poofing up around her as she went. 

The Doctor, for his part, had been chatting amiably to the shop keeper while he waited, trying to glean information on anything strange that might have been happening in the area, seeing as the market wasn’t all that far from the monastery he was supposed to currently be at—such that he nearly walked into a pole when the man’s wife pronounced Amy ready for public viewing.

Amy bit her tongue to keep back the bubble of laughter that rose up in her at the Doctor’s reaction, then decided if she was going to play this role she might as well throw herself fully into it. Glancing up at the Doctor and the now-approving shop keeper demurely through her long lashes, Amy offered the group a small smile and said sweetly, “I trust I now look presentable, my Lords?” though she was barely able to keep a straight face.

The Doctor fumbled with the canopy pole, trying to set it up straight again after having knocked into it. Then, trying to regain his composure, he awkwardly straightened his tweed jacket, followed by his long fingers flying of their own accord to nervously fidget with his bow tie. Amy Pond looked different. Yes, _different_ was a good word. He was used to Amy trotting around in short skirts, and they’d never really bothered him that much, seeing as he was usually too busy to pay much attention to his companion’s wardrobe choices—and it wasn’t even that Amy wore that revealing clothing, because Leela, for one, had spent the better part of their adventures in nothing but a flimsy animal skin if he was going to be picky about that sort of thing—but the thing was… Amy didn’t usually wear something that revealed so much of the… er… _upper_ type portion of her body, and it was suddenly a rather difficult task for him to wrench his gaze away. 

Having settled the canopy pole back to rights, the Doctor cleared his throat and strode forward to eye Amy critically. “Yes, yes, very respectable, Amelia. We thank you, Lord Weaver, and your gracious lady wife, for taking pity on us. We’ve just completed a long journey and thus had no suitable clothing for our outing. Naturally, the little lady refused to stay behind while I went to sort it all out… and, well, the Celts and all that, eh?” He gestured in a _what-would-you-have-me-do?_ manner in Amy’s direction and the shop keeper grunted his sympathy. 

The Doctor’s psychic paper had gone a long way in convincing the weaver that both the Doctor and Amy were of high social standing, despite Amy’s rather dubious first impression, and she guessed it had aided in footing the bill for her new outfit while she’d been getting trussed up in the back of the shop, too. 

At the conclusion of this speech, however, Amy shot the Doctor a look, rising semi-gracefully to her feet, just barely managing not to trip and land flat on her face in the dust when one of the thin-soled slippers she’d been forced into caught on the hem of her skirts. The Doctor dropped her wink, noticing her rising temper, and Amy gave him sugar-sweet smile in return.

“You are satisfied with your bride’s presentation then, I trust?” the shop keeper asked, and the Doctor nodded enthusiastically. 

“Oh yes! Much better! Really, she looks almost a lady now, wouldn’t you say?”

The shop keeper’s wife gave a nod of satisfaction, her daughter hovering a few steps behind her shoulder, and Amy threw them a regal look. To the Doctor, whom she had now navigated her way to stand beside, she muttered through grinning teeth: “Keep talking about me like I’m some doll you’re dressing for a party and you’re going to have a divorce on your hands, _dear husband_ —!”

“You’re pleased, _wife_?” the Doctor cut in pointedly, raising his voice to cover Amy’s sarcasm, and Amy realized that everyone was looking at her. Hastily she pasted on an appropriately grateful expression and bobbed another curtsy to the weaver.

“Oh, er, yes. Very pleased. My _husband_ is most generous…” The Doctor grinned in a self-satisfied way, hooking his thumbs into the lapels of his tweed jacket and puffing out his chest. Amy moved closer on the pre-tense of showing her gratefulness—only to dig her elbow into the Doctor’s ribs. He flinched, and glared at her, and Amy smiled sweetly. The Doctor shot her reproachful look which she took the liberty of ignoring, and Amy looped her arm through his with adecidedly unrepentant grin. “You said you had business at the monastery, didn’t you, _husband_?” she added before the Doctor could say anything. 

“Yes, right, of course! We should be off!” the Doctor announced abruptly, taking the not so subtle hint Amy was dropping him and reaching out to shake the shop keeper’s hand with overdone vigour. “I’ll be sure to recommend your wears to all those we meet in Society!” And with that he tucked Amy’s hand into the crook of his elbow and hurried her away down the road, leaving the weaver and his family to stare after them in confusion; though Amy was almost certain she heard the Weaver’s wife mutter something about them going to the monastery being a good idea, and they ought to pray for their souls.

**~OOO~**

****“Why is it,” Amy asked as soon as they’d made it out of hearing distance of the weaver and his wife, “that _you_ never have to change clothes, no matter where we go? I mean, really, a tweed jacket and bow tie don’t really fit in with tights and capes, Doctor. And I am talking about the _men_ you know…”

The Doctor sniffed and reached up to unconsciously straighten his bow tie. “Bow ties are cool, Pond.”

Amy elbowed him in the side and he grunted, shooting her a wounded look. “Ouch! Really, Amelia, you’re going to have to curb your violent urges while we’re here. Women of this time period were much more… er… _docile_ than you’re acting.” 

Amy ignored the Doctor’s jibe and pushed on. “I’m just sayin’ that a nice neck ruff or something wouldn’t be amiss, seein’ as how we’re trying to _blend_ _in_ …” She gave him a significant look which he studiously ignored. “Or maybe a codpiece?” she added innocently, flickering her gaze down his front as several wealthy-looking men strolled past them with prominent codpieces of their own made out of opulent fabrics that neatly matched their outfits.

The Doctor’s even gait jerked as he twisted to gape at Amy in mute shock, but by the time he was able to untangle his tongue enough to sputter a reply, Amy had made her escape and was running down the cobbled street ahead of him, her lilting laughter floating over her shoulder and her red hair swinging wildly across her back.

With a grumble and several mutterings under his breath, the Doctor hurried to catch Amy up. She was always doing and saying things like that, he thought darkly to himself as he wove through the crowded street, keeping one eye on Amy’s bright copper hair as she skipped about, peering into shop windows and greeting the native Italians who mostly gave her frozen smiles in response before turning away quickly and going about their business. I mean, really! Dropping remarks about… about things like _codpieces_ of all things, like she was commenting on the weather! It wasn’t like she couldn’t know that her casual remarks got under his skin, but what was worse, the Doctor knew that Amy was in a relationship with a bloke from her village, Roy or Robby or something like that, the nurse—yes, that was the one—and if she was in a relationship she shouldn’t be looking at his… his… _codpiece area_ in the first place!

When he rounded the next corner the rust-coloured tiles of the roof of St. Michael’s Monastery loomed in the background of the _piazza_ , and the Doctor sighed in relief. He could see a group of monks waiting for him clustered under a stone archway, the cowls of their robes pulled up far enough that their faces were obscured in shadow. Strange symbols were woven in silver thread along the sleeves and hems of the men’s dark robes, and they glowed with a faint light as one monk broke away from his brothers and started toward the Doctor.

The Order of Altron was an ancient and highly respected race, though not one that the Doctor had an overly abundant amount of experience with. He’d met the Monks before, of course, in groups of twos or threes, at various events and gatherings across the cosmos, but he’d never been summoned to their city before. Never, in fact, seen more than four of the Brothers gathered together in one place. Which was why he felt both excited and the tiniest bit unnerved to see a group of at least twenty figures milling around in front of the monastery. 

“The Order welcomes you, Time Lord,” said the monk who had left the group to come greet the Doctor. His voice was quiet, almost a monotone. In fact, the Doctor was left with a distinct impression that the monk’s voice was coming from someone else, rather than from somewhere in the depths of his cowl. 

“It’s good to be here, Brother Cronus,” the Doctor grinned back, looking completely at ease even if he didn’t feel precisely that way. “Though your invitation was rather cryptic.” He paused then, frowning slightly in thought. “‘Cryptic’… that’s such a strange word when you think about its meaning, isn’t it? Crypt-ic. Sounds like a morgue or some lovely old catacombs—though I do love me some catacombs. I could tell you a story about a time I was chased through—” Amy’s elbow was aiming for him like a missile and he danced out of the way. “—Er, better leave that one for another time. What I should have said was ‘mysterious’. Or ‘enigmatic’. Ooooh! Yes. I like that one. _E-nig-ma-tic_. I should use that word more often. Anyway, more to the point, I do hope you plan to explain your request now that I’m here…”

Throughout this entire speech Brother Cronus hadn’t hadn’t shown a flicker of emotion, though, of course, that might have been due to the fact that his face—if he even had one, the Doctor had never seen any of the monks with their hoods down—was hidden in shadow. Amy hovered at the Doctor’s side watching this exchange, and when the Doctor finally stopped rambling she leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “Those are the monks, huh?”

He flickered a glance at her out of the corner of his eye and noted her curious expression. “Yes, Pond, this is the Order of Altron, the reason we’re here in sixteenth century Italy.”

“But monks? Really? We have monks in my time. Are they at least space monks? Go on… tell me they’re space monks, Doctor!” Amy was grinning like she always did when she got over-excited at some new person or creature they met. Of course, not having the experience he did, she often made comments that were rather rude, if unintentionally so. The Doctor cast a quick look between Brother Cronus and the rest of the Order behind him, all still motionless as statues, then turned to Amy.

“The Order of Altron was founded twelve thousand years ago, Amy, and is a very respected religious group whose private texts are a highly guarded secret. People have travelled across galaxies just to look at their temple, let alone have the chance to speak with one of the Brothers and learn from their wisdom—which, by the way, is allowed only about once every two or three hundred years or so.”

Amy’s eyes had taken on a slightly glazed look, as often happened when the Doctor answered a simple question with a rambling response. He frowned when Amy didn’t look suitably impressed by this bit of knowledge. 

“So what you’re saying is, Friar Tuck and his Merry Men over there are some sort of cosmic priests?”

He started to nod, his mind already moving on to the topic at hand, when he noticed Amy’s smirk and raised eyebrow. She held his gaze for several long seconds before he finally cracked and huffed, “Yes, Pond. ‘Space Monks’.”

“I knew it.” Amy grinned triumphantly and the Doctor rolled his eyes.

“Yes, well, can we move on now? Big mysterious message and big mysterious temple and all that….” he muttered petulantly, pointedly ignoring Amy’s smug expression as she brushed past him toward Brother Cronus, her hand extended and a greeting on her lips. “ _Amy_!” he shouted, just in time, causing her to pull up short seconds before she could touch the monk.

Amy jerked awkwardly, yanking her hand back and and spinning to look at the Doctor in surprise. “Wha-what?! What? Huh? What did I do now?”

The Doctor hurried up next to Amy and neatly guided her back a few paces, while Amy herself shot a startled look between Brother Cronus and himself, looking very confused. “No one is allowed to touch the Brothers without permission, to do so would cause bad things to happen.”

Amy eyed the Doctor suspiciously. “What sort of bad things?”

“The sort of bad things that happen to people when they touch the Brothers without permission,” the Doctor snapped back, cutting off Amy’s imminent retort that that ‘wasn’t any sort of an answer’ by stepping in front of her and directing his attention back to Brother Cronus. The monk however, had, like his brothers, not moved or acknowledged that something apparently ‘dire’ had nearly taken place. “So, shall we?”

Brother Cronus’s cowl bobbed in what Amy assumed to be a nod, and then he turned and all but glided back across the cobbled road toward the other monks still gathered by the monastery entrance. The Doctor followed immediately on his heels, and Amy hurried behind him, trying to ignore the rest of the Brothers as they closed ranks around the pair and followed their leader inside the monastery.

It was dark inside, the long stone passageways lit only by iron sconces set into the bricks on alternating sides of the hall. The firelight cast eerie shadows all around them as they progressed further into the building, though the Doctor’s face suggested he had other things to think about than the creep-factor of the decor, so Amy refrained from commenting on it herself. After they’d been walking about five minutes, though it felt like an eternity longer to Amy in her silly thin slippers—and she was beginning to mutter under her breath about women’s lib and how she planned to enlighten Italian females on the glorious pros of owning a pair of high-heeled boots—societal consequences be damned—the party left the gloomy hallways and exited into a larger, open chamber with sunlight streaming past tall marble pillars. The Doctor and Brother Cronus stopped walking a few feet into the room and Amy and the monks filed in behind them. Once everyone had stopped walking—or in the monks’ case, ‘gliding’—Amy was able to take in the scene around them. 

She discovered that they weren’t in another room, per say, but rather standing on a flagstone patio that encircled a a wide, open courtyard. The courtyard was surrounded with a ring of Ionic pillars, tall and stoic, with curling stone scrolls carved into their tops. In the centre of the courtyard was a wide grassy field, in the middle of which was a carved marble fountain with two people beside it. Looking back over her shoulder to see what the Doctor and Brother Cronus were up to, Amy found everyone looking at her—or more precisely, looking past her. Curiosity welled-up inside her, and Amy turned to focus her attention on the Doctor, figuring he must know who the two newcomers were. Her eyes lit on the Doctorjust in time to see his expression change from one of curiosity… to surprise… to cautious understanding.

“Oh,” he said slowly. “I see. So that’s what you summoned me here for.”

**~OOO~**

**And that’s a wrap on chapter one! Hopefully you liked it enough that you want to stick around for chapter two. I’m working on it now, so please leave a note if you’re curious about what’s going to happen next. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome to chapter two! Back for more, huh? Okay then, I’ll try and make things a little more interesting from here on out… ;)**

**~OOO~**

 

-Chapter 2-

 

There was a woman sitting on the edge of the fountain. She wore a gown similar to Amy’s, though done up in shades of pale lavender and silver, and her gleaming chestnut hair tumbled around her shoulders before falling freely to her waist in dark waves. Her complexion was fair and her large brown eyes reminded Amy of a fawn. The man standing next to her was almost as tall as the Doctor, though far more regal. He had light brown hair and grey eyes, and wore a shiny black boots and a leather jerkin over his tunic and trousers. He wasn’t wearing a crown, but Amy was somehow certain that the man before her was royal.

The man noticed their group first, and strode forward to meet them. “You are the man they call ‘Doctor’?” he asked when he was halfway across the yard. The Doctor had brushed past Amy to intercept the man, and she had to grab her skirts in both hands in order not to trip over them when she scurried after him, not wanting to be left alone with the monks.

“That’s what it says in the dictionary,” the Doctor replied brightly. “‘Doctor, comma, The’, followed by my picture—or _pictures_ ,” he amended, thoughtfully, “as there would be rather a lot of them…if, in fact, there was an article about me. Amy,” he said, turning to frown at her. “Why isn’t there an article about me in the dictionary?”

“I’m Amy,” Amy cut in, not deigning to dignify this ridiculous question with a response. “And you are?” She lifted her hand automatically, offering it to the man to shake, then glanced between him and the Doctor and hesitated slightly, muttering in a quick aside: “I _can_ shake this one’s hand, right? Not illegal, like with those creepy monks?”

The Doctor blinked, coming out of his reverie, and stared between Amy and the man in front of them. “Er… what? Yes, of course you can touch him, Amy, don’t be daft. Though, of course, you probably shouldn’t, because he’s a prince and you’re, well, not. So touching him without permission could break a law and cause you to lose your hand—but what’s a hand, eh? You can do loads with only one hand—”

Amy stared at the Doctor as he rambled, completely absorbed in rehashing a tale about the time he’d lost a hand in sword fight, though it had regrown better than before, and so she was startled when her own hand was suddenly enclosed in a warm, slightly calloused, grip. She turned back to the man—that is, prince, as the Doctor had said he was—and was just in time to watch him raise her pale hand to his lips and kiss it gently.

“Oh…!” was all Amy was able to squeak out, feeling her cheeks heat the tiniest bit. This sort of gallant gesture wasn’t at all common back in Leadworth, except, perhaps, when the lads in the pub had had one to many pints. 

“That, Amy,” came the Doctor’s voice as he moved up beside her, “is His Royal Highness, Prince Arden DeLuccia; Lord of the Realm and Protector of the People. The very upperest of the upper crust in Italy at this time.” 

The Doctor’s voice was polite enough as he gave this introduction, but Amy, being too caught up in the Prince’s grey eyes, didn’t notice the way he narrowed his own at the lingering look the Prince was giving her while brazenly allowing his gaze to travel slowly over her body.

“I am as your friend names me,” the man said formally, finally relinquishing Amy’s hand and flashing her a charming smile that showed surprisingly white teeth for a person living in a time where toothbrushes hadn’t yet been invented. “And who might you be? If I had known that the Brother’s were summoning someone so fair as yourself, my lady, I would have arranged for you to meet me in my palace instead of here in the courtyard of the monastery.”

The Prince still only had eyes for Amy, and so the Doctor was forced to maneuver his hand between them in order to snap open the leather wallet containing his psychic paper. “Our papers, your Highness,” he said a little stiffly, causing Amy to shoot him an odd look. “I’m sure you’ll find them all in order.”

The prince studied the otherwise blank paper for a moment, his eyes sliding in and out of focus as he ‘read’. “Ah yes, of course: Lord Doctor of TARDIS and the Much Honoured Lady Amelia, of Clan Pond.” He handed the wallet back to the Doctor and once again set his gaze on Amy. “I should have know that you were Celtic, M’Lady. You have a sort of… wild beauty about you…”

Amy smirked slightly at this description. It would have sounded incredibly cheesy had anyone else given this proclamation, but coming from a prince the words only served to tip her lips up in a flattered smile. Hearing the Doctor shuffling around next her, she turned and directed her smirk his way for half an instant, before returning her gaze boldly to the prince. A ‘wild beauty’ was she? Ha! Finally someone to appreciate her, unlike the Doctor who was too absorbed in the mysteries of the Universe, or even Rory, who, though he was sweet enough, didn’t have the same sort of rugged handsomeness that this Italian prince beheld, nor his excellent way with words.

“Yes, right, can we move on then?” The Doctor looked back and forth between Amy and the prince who was staring at her with a faint smile on his lips, neither of whom seemed to be much inclined to return their attentions to him, and then strode purposefully between the pair, forcing both to take a step back in order to let him pass. He made his way back to the girl still sitting placidly on the fountain’s edge, muttering under his breath. What was it with humans and their need to make eyes at one another for so long? Just shake hands and move on already! Shoving down the strange irritation that had arisen in him in the last few minutes, the Doctor strode purposefully over the grass, leaving Amy and the Prince to their own devices.

The girl at the fountain had watched the greetings go on without getting up or offering any of her own, however, when the Doctor approached her, she straightened her back and lifted her chin. The Doctor, for his part, strolled around the small fountain bending his head this way and that so as to study the girl from all angles. When he had completed his inspection he came to a stop in front of her and leaned down so that his face was right next to hers. 

“You’re not human, are you?” He murmured this deduction in a low voice, his head tilted to one side as he squinted at the girl. It was more of a statement than a question, Amy thought, noting that the Doctor looked delighted to have stumbled upon something ‘ _interesting_ ’ at last. The girl, for her part, looked affronted, and leaned away from the Doctor’s over-excited peering hither and thither at her person.

“I most certainly am so!” she retorted indignantly, once she had regained control of her voice. She looked past the Doctor then, to where Amy and prince stood, and he frowned, glancing back over his shoulder.

Prince Arden was grinning broadly at this outburst, looking highly amused. “I assure you, Lord Doctor, the Lady Cassandra is as human as you or I; she is simply particularly in tune with the spiritual world. It does lend her a sort of otherworldly aura, does it not?”

The Doctor turned back to the girl on the fountain and directed his frown at her now. He’d had dealings with another ‘woman’ of that name in the past and it hadn’t ended well. “Just ‘Doctor’ will do,” he said at last, giving Cassandra a final, penetrating stare before straightening up and turning his back on her. “And anyway, it wouldn’t matter in particular if she were merely human, she’s the reason we’re here and as such we shouldn’t be keeping any secrets.” 

Amy watched as the Doctor spun around in a circle, the tails of his suit jacket fluttering in the wind as he turned back to the girl—Cassandra—with a wide grin on his face.

“Now, you’ve got a message for me, haven’t you?” the Doctor said brightly, clasping his hands in front of his chest and trying to hide his eagerness. “Go on, don’t be shy… no one here but us chickens!” he coaxed, when Cassandra still looked wary, and Amy recognized the tone of voice the Doctor used when attempting to cajole someone into telling him something. “Well, not chickens exactly. More like ‘no one here but a curious Ti—er—Lord, a prince, a damsel, and a passel of monks.’ Can you say a passel of monks? What’s the word for a gathering of monks anyway? A Band of Brothers? A Profusion of Priests?…” He trailed off thoughtfully for a moment before Amy cleared her throat and then he snapped back to the task at hand. “Anyway, the point is, Cassandra, you know why I’m here. Now. So why don’t you enlighten the rest of the group?”

Amy had been listening to this conversation with some interest herself. The Doctor hadn’t told her why they were making a stop in ancient Italy instead of continuing on to the not-so-lost Moon of Poosh, aside from the need to meet up with the Monks of Altron, so whatever Cassandra had to say Amy was extremely curious to know what it was.

“You have a very inquisitive soul, Doctor,” Cassandra said at last, her voice was cool but her eyes never left the Doctor’s face. He grinned at having convinced her to talk.

“Yes, I’ve been told that once or twice. Also that I’m nosy. But one has to be a tiny bit nosy if one wants to find things out, wouldn’t you agree, Cassandra?”

The Doctor looked like he was enjoying himself enormously. Amy could see the way excitement lit his eyes, though they remained sharply trained on Cassandra’s face, taking in her every reaction.

“That may be so…” Cassandra allowed, and her pretty pink lips turned up in the smallest of smiles. “However, Doctor, for a man so intent on knowing all my secrets, you’re hiding a fair few of your own.”

The Doctor frowned slightly at this comment and cleared his throat a little nervously. He didn’t like it when people turned things around on him.

“As you say, dear Lady,” he finally replied, hitching his cocky grin back into place as if she hadn’t rattled him. Cassandra’s smile grew until it could almost be called a smirk, and the Doctor hurried to move the attention back to her. Before he could speak, however, Cassandra’s eyes slid out of focus and the timbre of her voice dipped into monotone.

“ _When the broken clock chimes the lion will fall, blessed Amatus will sacrifice. What once was lost will be reclaimed, but always at the cost of life_.”

Amy and the prince both stared at this pronouncement, but the Doctor took Cassandra’s sudden prediction in stride. Reaching into his jacket pocket he withdrew his sonic screwdriver and pressed a button on it, arcing it through the air from the top of Cassandra’s head down to the bottom of her dress. It buzzed appreciatively and he whipped it back up to eye level to squint at the reading. “ _Aha_!”

The Doctor’s sudden yell caused everyone around him to flinch in surprise. Amy recovered first and hurried across the grass to stand next to him and murmur in a low voice, “What did she mean? Is she human? Or an alien? You did say _if she were merely a human_ before, Doctor…” 

The Doctor turned to look at Amy, hovering at his side and looking almost as excited as he felt. He met her eyes and grinned, then dropped her a wink and turned abruptly away. “So… you mentioned a palace?”

The prince looked a little startled at being addressed so suddenly, but quickly recovered his poise. “Yes, of course, Lord—er, Doctor. I would be honoured if you and your lovely acquaintance would join me for the duration of your visit. In fact, your arrival is excellently timed as we’re having a ball tonight in honour of…” He continued on for some minutes, listing the names of many dignitaries and nobles and other important people who were visiting for the celebration, but Amy tuned out, wondering what exactly a sixteenth century ball entailed.

Prince Arden led them out of the courtyard chatting away to the Doctor, who was busy dropping names of his own—like the time he’d rescued the Pope when the Ferrara earthquake struck in 1570—and the monks followed behind their party, giving Amy the creepy feeling of being stalked by a bunch of ghosts since their robes made no sound as they moved, but Cassandra remained by the fountain. When they exited the monastery and came out onto the cobblestoned square once more, Amy felt relieved. Under normal circumstances she supposed she should be feeling refreshed and spiritually enlightened after spending time with a group of holy men (were they even men?), but she only felt anxious and eager to get far away from the Brothers. 

While Arden went off to speak to an attendant and call his carriage, Amy pulled the Doctor to one side. “What did you discover?” she muttered in a low voice, keeping one eye on the monks hovering not far off from where they stood.

The Doctor turned to look at her. “Discover?”

“With Cassandra?” Amy pressed, casting a glance between the entrance to the monastery, somewhere inside which the girl in question still sat, and the the Doctor. “You…you know… buzzed at her with your sonic and then got all…Aha!” She fluttered her hands in the air in a demonstration of mock enlightenment. The Doctor looked insulted.

“I did not ‘Aha’!” He made a face and flung his own hands into the air, wiggling his fingers in Amy’s face. “That would look ridiculous. I—” But he was spared further comment by Arden calling them over. 

When they crossed the the square to where the Prince and his attendants waited, Amy’s mouth dropped open. There was a stunning old-fashioned, open-top, gold gilt carriage pulled up to the side of the monastery, four white horses at its helm. Amy glanced at the Doctor and murmured, “Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about!” before hurrying up to Arden, leaving the Doctor trailing behind.

Arden’s handsome face split into a wide grin when he saw Amy, and he dismissed the attendant he’d been talking to with a wave of his hand. “M’Lady Amelia,” he said warmly as she came to a stop in front of him. 

Amy faltered slightly, trying to remember if she needed to curtsey every time she spoke to royalty or not, cursing the fact that she hadn’t paid enough attention in history class when they’d studied the renaissance in school. Deciding to err on the side of caution, she dipped down awkwardly.  “Um, your highness? —Oh!” She started in surprise; Arden had reached down and caught at her hand, pulling Amy back into a standing position with a gentle, but firm tug. 

“Please, call me Arden, My Lady. We are all friends here, are we not, Doctor?” he added, his gaze sliding from Amy’s face and over her shoulder to where the Doctor had come up behind them.

Amy felt her cheeks grow warm at the intense look in Arden’s eyes before he shifted his gaze away, and nodded. “Okay, er, Arden. Then call me Amy. Being called ‘Amelia’ makes me feel like I’m in trouble at school, and let me tell you that wasn’t as uncommon as you might think—” Realizing she was babbling, Amy cut herself off, just as the  Doctor stepped forward, drawing the prince’s attention away from her embarrassed blush.

“Soooo…..” he said slowly, trailing on hand along the side of the gilded carriage and studying the carriage as if it were a vintage car. “This is your ride, is it?”

Arden turned to watch him as the Doctor inspected the carriage from every angle, even going so far as to stick his head underneath, as if checking out the mechanics. “Yes. The Golden Carriage has been in my family for the past four generations.”

“Only four, eh?” the Doctor repeated, then spun around and pinned Arden with a smug look. “My carriage has been in the family for eleven generations! Well, re-generations. And technically I’m the the only family, unless you count my companions. Of which Amy is one. So she counts. And it’s not so much a carriage as a box. And not gold, but blue—”

“And it’s the bluest blue you’ve ever seen!” Amy cut in. “Yes, Doctor, we know the drill. So…” She turned back to the Prince and gave him her most Amy-ish smile. “You mentioned something about a party?”

Arden’s slightly slack-jawed expression quickly reformed into a dignified smile once more. “Yes, Amy,” he said, and Amy could practically feel the way her name felt in his mouth. Arden somehow conveyed a wealth of meaning in the word, and Amy felt herself blush without knowing why. She felt a little annoyed with herself for reacting like a junior high girl talking to her first crush. _Get ahold of yourself, Pond!_ “And if you would consent to ride to the palace with me, I would be most honoured to show you and your—friend?—the sights as we travel.”

An attendant opened the carriage door and Arden held out a hand to help Amy in. She had  just placed her foot on the step to climb in when the Doctor neatly maneuvered himself between her and the opening into the carriage. Amy, still awkwardly balanced on the step, and clinging to Arden’s hand so that she didn’t suddenly tumble back to the dusty cobbles below, turned to stare over her shoulder and give the Doctor a Look. “Uh…. _what_ are you doing?” 

The Doctor was standing ramrod straight and facing down Arden with a cool look on his face. “We have our own transportation, thanks.”

Arden, perhaps unconsciously, straightened his posture as well, so that Amy suddenly felt like she was in the middle of somer bizarre sort of stand-off between the two men. “Of course, Doctor,” Arden said politely, though this voice was a bit stiffer than before. “If you prefer to take your own carriage…”

“We do—” the Doctor said at once, turning to reach up and help Amy back to the ground. She shifted away toward the carriage, frowning at him.

“We don’t—” Amy said at the same time, talking over the Doctor while shooting him an incredulous look. Turning back to Arden she offered him a slightly forced smile. “Yours will do just fine.” 

The Doctor ignored this declaration and moved closer to Amy once more, so that she now  had to lean back off the carriage step to keep some distance between them. “Trust me, Amy, our ride will be faster. Less road dust, too.” He attempted his trademark carefree grin, but it was too thin to be believable in Amy’s opinion.

“You’re _crazy_ ,” Amy informed the Doctor, equally ignoring the way his eyes narrowed, and turned her back on him with a roll of her eyes. “You can walk to the palace, or ride a space camel for all I care. Or you could stop being an idiot and get in the carriage. As for me, I’m going to ride through the streets of Venice with a prince and take in the view.”

“Amy—” But the Doctor had moved too close too quickly this time, and Amy had already been precariously balanced on the step,  so when the Doctor reached for her again and Amy jerked back in annoyance, she tripped on her long skirts, slipped off the carriage stair, and sailed backwards with a startled shriek.

There was a rush of air and then a _thwump_ …. and Amy found herself abruptly cradled in Arden’s arms. “Uh…thanks.” she mumbled, trying very hard not to think about the way she’d basically just swooned into the arms of a fairytale prince. Maybe the Doctor had done her an inadvertent favour by acting so ridiculous. 

For his part, said prince was looking down at Amy in some surprise, having jumped forward automatically to catch her at the last second, but moments later his expression melted into a broad grin. “If the Doctor doesn’t wish you to ride in my carriage… I could be obliged to make other arrangements…” Arden said easily, tightening his hold around Amy’s back and legs and making her breath catch in her chest—or that might have been due to the lacing of her dress, Amy wasn’t entirely sure. 

The Doctor made a strange sound behind her back just then, and Arden smoothly set Amy back on her feet, a faint smirk playing about his lips. A moment later, he stepped forward and neatly blocked the Doctor’s sputtering form as he made sure that Amy made it safely into the carriage this go around, then sprang up into it after her. Once they were both settled, Arden paused for a moment and looked deeply into Amy’s eyes. “Yes, the view is much better here,” he agreed, picking up the conversation where Amy had left off minutes earlier, though the Doctor thought suspiciously that the prince and his companion where talking about two very different things.

From the ground, the Doctor noted the way Amy’s pale skin flushed pinkly at this remark, and somewhere inside him an irrational urge to shove the prince out of his stupid, measly four-generation carriage and into the dust below rose up with sudden and powerful vengeance. Therefore, it was with an underwhelming show of grace, and a good deal of muttering under his breath about how he’d have to come back and pick up the TARDIS after supper, that the Doctor clambered up into the carriage and settled himself next to Amy, facing Arden across the way. Half a beat later, the driver flicked his reigns and the carriage jolted into motion, ferrying them all across the city toward palaces unknown.

**~OOO~**

The sun was just starting to set when they arrived. The drive through the city hadn’t taken that long, especially since all the carts, hawkers, and nobles alike scattered to get out of the carriage’s way every time they turned a corner. It made Amy slightly jealous—maneuvering through traffic back home was never this easy. But Arden had pointed out several fantastic sites along the way:  the Rialto Bridge over the grand canal near the monks’ monastery… and Saint Mark’s Basilica was even more breath-taking than it had been in Amy’s high school history books… She wished that the ride could have taken a bit longer though, seeing the city up close had always been a dream of hers. Maybe she’d be able to convince the Doctor to go sightseeing after he’d concluded his business at the palace… 

Arrival at the sprawling Venetian chateau was equally smooth. The golden carriage pulled up to a huge set of wood and iron doors and a flock of staff came bustling out to greet them and chivy them inside. Amy and the Doctor were introduced to the servants with their psychic-paper-given titles and a flurry of curtsies and bows echoed down the line of young men and women in crisp white and black livery, then they had been hurried off to a private chamber to ‘freshen up’ before dinner. Prince Arden promised to see them in the banquet hall, making many apologies to both Amy and the Doctor—though he’d seemed more sincere when swearing to Amy that he would give her as much time as she desired at dinner to make up for his unfortunate need to leave her—that is, them—now, to conduct some business before supper.

Arden’s palace was a monstrous building of ivory and gilt gold, full of huge windows and opulent furniture, with statues and portraits of rulers past and present scattered about most of the rooms. Amy was in love.

“Now this is a place I could get used to, raggedy man,” she teased, skipping past a balcony with its doors thrown wide to let in the evening air, then pausing to inspect a handsomely-carved marble statue. A saucy grin split her face and Amy smirked at the Doctor. “Not modest, are they, Italian men?”

The Doctor wandered over to look at the statue Amy was studying. It was at least seven feet tall, abundantly muscled, and clad only in a artfully-draped carved marble cloth around the hips. One look at the face of the statue showed that the creation was a homage to the crown prince himself: Arden. The Doctor frowned. “It looks to me rather like he’s compensating for something…”

Amy had been too busy squinting up at the marble face of the prince to quite catch the Doctor’s mutterings. “Hmm? Did you say something?”

The Doctor cleared his throat and turned quickly away, not wanting to spend any more time staring at the freakishly well-built prince than strictly necessary. “No, no, nothing at all, Pond.”

The Doctor walked away from the half-naked statue and made his way toward a table that held a wash basin and porcelain jug. He poured some water into the bowl and splashed his face with it, patting his cheeks down with the helpful towel provided. His head was spinning with Cassandra’s prediction. He’d wanted to stay and question her more, but as soon as she’d spoken he had felt a stirring in the ranks of the monks gathered across the courtyard. The feeling had been vague at best, but still, the Doctor had felt a sort of ‘waking up’  mentally, as it were, from the Brothers. The Order of Altron had a certain amount of telepathy, which was how the Doctor had finally figured out why Brother Coronas’ voice had seemed to come from ‘nowhere’ despite the fact that he’d heard him speak aloud. Being a Time Lord, he was naturally attuned to when other telepaths were in the vicinity, and he’d felt a prickle of unease at the curiosity the monks had had in Cassandra’s words. Therefore he’d decided that for the time being it would be best to put his questions on hold and hurry things along. 

They’d been in the chamber about forty-five minutes, Amy exclaiming over this picture or that statue, and already demanding that the Doctor find someone to paint her portrait—“Just wait till I show the girls back home! And Rory. Hmmm… of course he’ll probably take the mickey over my dress, but who cares what he thinks!”—and the Doctor wandering aimlessly about, lost in his own thoughts, when there was a knock on the door, followed quickly by a young maid entering their suite. “If you’ll pardon the interruption, your Ladyship, your Lordship,” the girl said nervously, bobbing a curtsy. “His Highness requests you join him and his other guests in the banquet hall.”

The Doctor turned slowly to regard the girl, all thoughts of the monks and Cassandra washed away with the reminder of their host. Amy was already hurrying toward the door, looking far too eager to get to dinner than he really thought was necessary. Frowning, as he recalled the prince’s obvious interest in Amy, the Doctor strode across the room to meet her by the door and together they followed the maid out. 

It was a good thing Arden had sent someone to fetch them, the Doctor thought grudgingly after they’d been walking for ten minutes, the palace was huge and each exceedingly long corridor seemed longer and more identical than the last. When their little party finally arrived at the doors to the banquet hall he could hear boisterous laughter and loud conversations already seeping out into the quiet of the hall beyond. Their guide lead the Doctor and Amy inside and then, surprisingly, up to the head table where there were two empty chairs on either side of the prince. The Doctor found himself seated to the prince’s left, Amy to his right, and a wide gathering of noblemen and women in fancy clothes seated around and across from them all.

“Ahhh, Doctor!” Arden cried jovially, a goblet of wine in one hand and a slight reddening in his cheeks that proclaimed it wasn’t the first he’d had since leaving them an hour earlier. “Amy! You look ravishing!”

The Doctor straightened his bow tie a bit smugly and smirked a little. “Thank-you, your kingliness.”

Amy rolled her eyes at him as she was helped into her chair by a butler of some kind. “He was talkin’ to _me_ ….” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, and the Doctor’s grin slipped as he pulled out his own chair and settled in at the table. 

Servants with decanters appeared out of nowhere and filled their two empty goblets with a rich red liquid that smelled divine, even to the Doctor’s discerning tastes. Platters of steaming meats and vegetables, artfully arranged in such fancy manners that it seemed they might almost be there purely for show, not consumption, were laid out down the centre of the long wooden table, and in the background a minstrel quartet played a cheery tune. 

“Please, my friends, fill your plates, and I’ll make sure your goblets never empty! I know you have travelled far today and it is my honest wish to refresh you, body and soul!” Arden had turned his attention to the Doctor and Amy and as soon as he spoke a pair of servants moved forward and began to carve turkey and ham bones and heap slices onto their plates. Amy grinned. She was starving.

“Thank you, your highness,” Amy chirped, picking up her fork and helping herself to  a selection of steamed carrots and potatoes, sprinkled with rosemary. She ate heartily, steadily ignoring the scandalized looks the other women at the table were throwing her way as they picked daintily at their own plates. The Doctor helped himself to a turkey leg and proceeded to gnaw away at it, looking utterly at ease among the crowd of strangers.

Arden himself chatted easily with his guests, telling funny stories and effortlessly including everyone at his table in the conversation; he was a personable man, obviously well-liked by all. The Doctor held his own, adding in anecdotes from his travels, often without regard for certain details that might seem out of place for this particular country and century, though, Amy thought privately, no one seemed to much care if one or two of the characters or places in the Doctor’s tales sounded a bit strange, as long as his story had a humorous ending—however how much that had to do with the astuteness of the audience verses how much wine had been consumed by all involved, Amy wasn’t entirely sure. 

**~OOO~**

It was late in the evening when the Doctor glanced over at Amy’s bright eyed, wine-flushed face, and found his gaze once again oddly captivated. Why was it that he’d never before noticed the way Amy’s ginger locks were six different shades, all glinting softly in the light from the candelabras on the massive dinning tables? Or the way her eyes flashed when she was talking intently about something? On second thought, he decided, when Amy’s eyes were flashing he was usually in trouble for something ridiculous, which didn’t leave much time to contemplate the fact that the electricity snapping in his companion’s eyes did strange things to his hearts.

“—isn’t that right, Doctor?”

Caught off guard at suddenly being addressed, the Doctor jerked out his thoughts, blushing guiltily, nearly knocked over his wine goblet, and upset a bowl of potatoes. Amy and Arden were staring at him expectantly, apparently waiting for him to concur some point Amy had just made, they cringed in unison at his clumsy reaction. “W-what? Yes! I agree with Amy! Unless she said something untoward, in which case shame on you, what would Rory say!”

Amy raised an eyebrow at this display and the Doctor’s hands fluttered awkwardly to his bow tie, which he straightened needlessly before pasting on a confident grin and attempting to look like he had any clue what they’d been discussing. Amy wasn’t fooled though, and sighed, resigning herself to repeating her comment.

“The prince was just asking us what you’d figured out abut Cassandra, Doctor,” Amy said with a barely suppressed eye roll at the Doctor’s short attention span. “About the riddle or prophecy or whatever. I told him that you were working on it and probably had a theory to share over dinner, _isn’t that right_?” Her expression plainly stated that he’d better have something brilliant to say on the subject. 

The Doctor shifted his gaze from Amy to Arden and found the prince watching him. His expression was polite but there was a certain tightness about his eyes.

“Yes, Doctor,” Arden added, pausing to take a sip from his goblet and resetting it on the table before smiling engagingly at the Doctor. “Your charming companion was just telling me that you’re a brilliant theorist when it comes to mysteries; and as our dear Lady Cassandra, for all that she is a deeply spiritual woman, has made some strange predictions recently, I was assured by both the Brothers, and Lady Amy just now, that you were the man to explain everything. I trust you’ve had more than enough time to come to a reasonable conclusion?”

Right. Cassandra. The Doctor straightened his jacket and reached for his own wine goblet. He lifted the heavy gold cup, fumbling slighting when its hefty weight overbalanced the grip he’d set on it, and returned Arden’s cool look before taking a long swig. The wine was stronger than he’d expected and he choked, inwardly cursing the fact that he’d forgotten that alcohol in this century and part of the world was much less diluted than modern-day London and Amy Pond’s local liquor mart selection.

Coughing, and with his eyes watering slightly , the Doctor set his goblet down and caught his breath. “Er…ahem…yes. Of course. The Brothers did mention something along those lines,” he said, noting the way Amy arched an eyebrow at him, clearly having no idea what he was talking about. Well she wouldn’t, would she? After all, the Brothers could choose to speak inside one’s head if they so desired, but only to another being with a highly attuned psychic wave, such as a Time Lord. Amy’s human brainwaves would have been far too inferior to register anything that the Brothers hadn’t chosen to voice aloud, such as they did. Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t shared this communication with his companion prior to their visit to the monastery, he still didn’t have much experience with the Order of Altron, and as such didn’t fully trust them.

“Well, Cassandra is a gifted individual,” he began cautiously, leaning back in his chair and regarding the prince across the table. 

Arden nodded sagely. “As you say, Doctor.”

“How long, would you say, has she possessed her talents for predictions?” the Doctor pressed, his voice still casual but his eyes watching the prince’s face as he answered.

“The Gift was discovered a few years ago,” Arden replied, his attention caught by a passerby, causing him to turn and wave and call a greeting. “The Church, naturally, wanted to burn her as a witch, or at best excommunicate her, damning her soul, and the Lady came to me, begging sanctuary. I took pity on her and arranged for the Brothers to take her in; the Church, after all, wouldn’t dare to forcibly remove a woman protected by those vowing to house the weak and destitute.”

The Doctor nodded his acknowledgment. “And she’s been living with the Order for how long now?”

“Hmm… about five years now, I think,” the prince returned, taking a deep drink from his goblet, then snapping his fingers at a servant standing nearby who promptly stepped forward and refilled it. “Her visions, such as they are, do not come on often, but when they do the Brothers tend to her needs. She is often drained and weak after a Foretelling and their brews and potions seem to help.”

“They sound more like wizards than monks,” Amy put in, and both men turned to look at her. Her eyes were bright with several glasses of wine, though the goblet provided for her as a woman had been significantly smaller than the one given to both the Doctor and the prince.

“You are an as clever as you are beautiful, Lady Amy,” Arden said, amusement in his dark eyes. “The Order is not of the same religious following that the general public seek when needing guidance. They study certain arts that one might better off not discuss in polite company. As such, they are exactly the sort of men who would accept and wholly look-after Lady Cassandra, no questions asked.” He tipped her a wink and Amy felt her body grow warm.

Just then the musicians in the corner struck up a new song and Arden pushed his plate away. “Enough talk about serious matters, Doctor,” he said a bit too loudly, shoving his chair back and moving around the table, a trifle unsteadily. “Dinner is over, now we dance!”

Even as he spoke, Amy could see the rest of the noblemen and women also rising from the table and moving toward the large, open space in the centre of the hall. They lined up opposite each other, laughing and chattering gaily to their partners, and Amy felt the urge to follow them. She was just wondering if she could join the line, or if she needed to wait to be asked because of some gender-rule of the time, not to mention she wasn’t entirely sure what sort dancing was popular in Italy during the renaissance, when an open palm appeared in the air under her nose. She looked up, fully expecting to see Prince Arden waiting to escort her onto the dance floor—seeing the Doctor standing there, having managed to get out of his chair and stand in front of her before Arden had made his way around the table, threw her off her stride a bit.

“Uh, what are you doing?” she managed, staring up at the Doctor’s face with a raised eyebrow.

“Clearly I’m asking you to dance, Pond,” he returned, still standing there with his hand held out, though looking a little unsure now. “I can see you want to, it’s written all over your face—well, not literally,” he added, with half a smile, “but—”

“W-well, yes, I _do_ want to, but…it’s dancing, Doctor!” Amy sputtered. The Doctor frowned, lowering his hand.

“Obviously, Pond; otherwise the musicians would be pointless and everyone leaving the dinner table without a word would be very rude.”

“ _Dancing_ ,” Amy said again, seeming unable to reconcile the activity with the man standing in front of her, and pinning the Doctor with the sort of look girls got when they thought boys were being particularly thick. “The thing where you move your feet and need a basic understanding of tempo and rhythm.”

“Come along, Pond,” the Doctor cut in, grabbing her hand and propelling her firmly out onto the floor and up to the end of the line of dancers. Amy, still caught between laughing outright at the Doctor for what she fully expected to be a spectacular catastrophe and attempting to maintain some sense of decorum considering where they were, allowed herself to be lead. 

There was something about the way the Doctor strode out to the line of dancers… she thought. His usual slightly gawky gait had evened out, and he moved with more confidence and poise then she had expected from him, considering they were about to join a group of people who’d probably practiced this dance for years. When they were standing opposite each other with the other nobles, Amy began to feel a little apprehensive. After all, she had no idea what she was doing. What if she gave herself away by not knowing the steps to a simple dance that someone of her stature would be expected to know? Biting her lip, she looked over at the Doctor. He met her anxious gaze with a surprisingly confident look of her own.

“Nervous?” he asked, his mocking voice tuned so that she could tell he was teasing. “Amelia Pond: afraid of making a mistake. Now that’s not the girl from Leadworth who ran away with a strange man wearing nothing but her nightclothes…”  

Amy blushed at the reminder of her recklessness, then straightened and attempted the same sort of regality she’d displayed when first stepping out of the Weaver’s shop earlier that afternoon. “Lady Amelia of Clan Pond is scared of nothing!” she said haughtily, and the Doctor grinned back at her.

“There you go, Pond,” he said with a light laugh, moving to place his hands behind his back in imitation of the line of men he was stationed beside. “What could possibly go wrong?”

**~OOO~**

**Sorry again for the wait for this chapter. I’ve been busy with life stuff. I enjoy reading a review if you enjoy writing one! See you next time. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for coming back, everyone! I’m working to build the storyline of this fic, thanks for sticking with me. :)**

**~OOO~**

 

-Chapter 3-

 

“There you go, Pond,” the Doctor said with a light laugh, moving to place his hands behind his back in imitation of the line of men he was stationed beside. “What could possibly go wrong?” 

Amy groaned, then tried to hide the sound with a laugh when the woman next to her glanced over and shot her an icy look. “You had to go and say that, didn’t you? I’ve never done this before!” she hissed through her teeth, while still trying to look as ladylike as the women in her own line who were all standing like a row of dolls, waiting for the dance to officially start. “I suppose you have some clue?” 

Her words clearly held the opposite meaning, but the Doctor ignored the slight and took a step closer to Amy, along with the rest of the men in his row, readying for the first steps of the dance. “This sort of dancing, Pond, is all about the intimacy… of the almost-touch…”

Amy looked up sharply and found the Doctor’s eyes burning into hers with a startling intensity. Something had changed in their conversation in the last few seconds, slipping silently from playful banter to something… else. Amy felt her cheeks heat at the look in the Doctor’s eyes and shook her head slightly, blaming that last glass of wine she’d had with dinner. She was being ridiculous. Feeling a little strange, she lowered her gaze to his hands, wondering why her heart was suddenly beating faster.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Amy said lowly, trying to distract herself from the strange vibe the Doctor was giving off as she the strings and pipes started up behind them. “This is an actual traditional dance. We can’t just fake it till we make it, you know…”

The Doctor slanted his eyes across the room at Amy, his keen ears picking up the faint tremble in her voice. The light of the candles reflected off the gilt stitching in her gown and her pink cheeks and bright eyes made his hearts give a queer thump. He cleared his throat and stepped out of line, moving, without comment, to reach over and manipulate Amy’s hands into the correct starting position. “I’ve been around a while, Pond,” he returned dryly, once her arms were set in the proper form. “I think it’s safe to say I’ve danced before.”

“Dancing and walking without tripping are two entirely different things, Doctor,” Amy muttered back, trying to hide her anxiousness with her usual snap. “And I can certainly vouch for the fact that you’re not that great at the second one!”

Next to her, the Doctor’s lips tipped up in a full smile. “This and that are not intertwined, Amelia.” 

The natural confidence that so often laced the Doctor’s words flowed freely with this declaration, but Amy was denied a smart-mouthed comeback since the minstrels chose that precise moment to burst into merry music, and all around her a dozen men and women broke ranks into a flurry of elegant, choreographed steps. Amy struggled to copy them at first, and found herself feeling supremely annoyed that, across from her, the Doctor—a man who spent half his time tripping over his own feet—seemed so easily to imitate the other dancers. He turned gracefully and extended his hands in time to the music as naturally as if he’d grown up practicing this very dance every day of his life. For all she knew, he might have spent years prancing about the Italian Court doing just that.

After a few minutes Amy found her feet, and soon her arms and legs began to follow the movements of theother women more naturally. The dance itself wasn’t actually that complicated, and it was slower than she’d expected, despite the tempo of the music. The group of dancers followed a repeated sequence of little side steps and graceful turns, and Amy was just starting to enjoy herself when the pattern of the dance brought her and the Doctor together again in the line of swirling skirts and tapping shoes.

“Space camel?” the Doctor murmured, turning and marching away two steps, then forward the same, as Amy mirrored him.

“What?” she managed to get out a little breathlessly, before the line of women raised their right arms in the air like medieval ballerinas and picked up their skirts with their left hands, turning in a circle and coming back up to their partners again. 

“My options for getting to the palace tonight,” the Doctor replied, speaking as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation. “You said I had to get into the carriage with Sir Flirts-A-lot, cross the city on foot, or ride a Space Camel.”  

Amy glared, embarrassed at the reminder. “Shut up. I couldn’t think of anything good on short notice. Plus, you were being an idiot.”

The corners of the Doctor’s mouth twitched faintly in suppressed amusement. Obviously he’d blocked out the reason for her comment earlier. “Have you ever seen a space camel, Pond?” he asked dryly.

“Of course not,” Amy retorted, spinning in another circle so that the skirts of her long dress swirled out and around her legs, then stepping back up to the Doctor as he completed a neat turn of his own, one hand held behind his back and the other proffered before him, waiting for Amy to place her fingers in the air just over it. “There’s no such thing.” They both spun and returned to the centre a second time and then Amy noticed the Doctor’s dancing eyes. “Is there?”

“It’s a big universe, Amelia,” he said simply, leading her down the line of dancers, his steps sure and his eyes never leaving hers.Amy was honestly amazed he hadn’t fallen flat on his face yet, but the Doctor was turning out to be a surprisingly good dancer. Who’d have known?

Several songs later, the music finally wound down, and the men bowed formally to their partners while the ladies dipped in curtsies. The ballroom was hot and Amy felt a little lightheaded as she rose up from her own dip to the floor. “We did it,” she said breathlessly, fanning her face with her hand to try and cool down some in the mass of bodies. “Anyone might think we were a proper Lord and Lady…” She’d meant the comment to come out teasingly, but a strange look crossed the Doctor’s face as he straightened from his bow. She frowned a little. “Why’re you looking at me like—oops!”

Amy swayed and the Doctor leaped forward to grab her by the forearms, preventing what would likely have been a fantastic swoon from taking place. He knew she’d looked too flushed for it to be entirely from the dance. “Are you alright?”

The Doctor’s concerned voice seemed to come from far away and Amy shook her head slightly, a faint buzzing in her ears. Her head was suddenly pounding and she felt overheated, like she was standing next to a stove wearing too many layers of clothing. Shrugging off the Doctor’s, hands she blinked hard, trying to restore her focus. “I’m… _fine_ …” she said slowly and determinedly. “Quit manhandling me, Raggedy Man.”

A shadow fell over them just as the Doctor started trying to steer Amy toward the door, and he raised his eyes from Amy’s blurry expression to see who had caused it. 

“You and your companion cut a fine figure on the floor, Doctor,” Arden said, and the Doctor stepped back, trying not to make a face at the heavily alcoholic breath wafting into his face from the prince. He watched as the broader man’s eyes narrowed slightly, taking in their path. “Surely you’re not retiring already?”

“We thank you for your compliment, your highness,” the Doctor returned stiffly. “But we must beg your leave from the festivities. Lady Amelia is indisposed and needs rest.”

“I am not indisposed!” Amy huffed, pulling out of the Doctor’s grip and promptly stumbling into Arden’s chest. He steadied her automatically.

“Perhaps your friend is right, dear Lady,” he suggested, raising an eyebrow at Amy and laughing a little. Amy glared between the pair of them.

“I am not ‘disposed,” Amy insisted again, grabbing onto Arden’s shoulder and pulling his head down to her level. “I may be the tiniest bit drunk, however,” she confided, as if sharing a secret. “But really, that’s your fault, what with the bottomless goblets and all…”

“Then perhaps a walk in the gardens so the fresh air may cool your skin, and a glass of water to steady your nerves?” Arden said, reaching out a hand to take Amy’s elbow.

“With the greatest thanks for your kindness and concern, we’ll have to decline,” the Doctor said firmly, pulling Amy back against his chest. Amy, of course, let out a string of mutterings at this injustice.

“Let me go, you lunatic, you’re not my father!”

_Thank Rassilon for that_ , the Doctor thought darkly, for more reasons than the obvious just then. Out loud, he was just about to return fire when a tickle in the back of his mind made him jerk his head around. 

At the back of the banquet hall stood a surprising and unwelcome sight: Lady Cassandra, looking pale but determined, surrounded by three of the Altron monks. Arden followed the Doctor’s abrupt shift of attention and his own eyes widened. 

“What the devil are they doing here?” the prince demanded, sounding honestly surprised. “The Brothers almost never leave the monastery, and taking Cassandra from her sanctuary is a huge risk—”

“I’ll be right back,” the Doctor broke in, his eyes never leaving the monks. “Don’t wander off,” he said shortly to Amy, then released her and strode purposefully across the huge hall.

Amy squinted in the dim light, thinking it was rather rude of the Doctor to insist they leave the party early then abruptly abandon her there. She was just working up to feeling properly cross when then there was a touch on her arm; she looked up to see Arden watching her.

“Since your companion is otherwise engaged now, would you perhaps care to take that walk through the gardens, Amy?” he suggested politely, looking steadier than she felt at the moment. The Doctor had told her to stay put but Amy wasn’t feeling particularly in the mood to follow his whims after he’d run off on her. Giggling to herself at the Doctor being referred to as _her_ companion for once, instead of the other way around, Amy allowed Arden to take her elbow and steer her out of the hall.

~OOO~

The night air was glorious against her overheated skin. The sky was crammed with stars, unhampered by city lights—especially considering there were only a scattering of torches in the gardens—and beyond the trees a full moon was rising. Arden lead Amy down a flagstone pathway toward a tall wall of shrubbery.

“There’s a fountain in the centre of the hedge maze, My Lady,” he said, holding her stumbling form up with a strong arm. “The waters are said to calm the spirit.”

“Mmmhmmm….” Amy mumbled, feeling a bit dizzy and leaning more heavily than she’d intended against Arden’s side. “Oops! Sorry…” she muttered, tripping slightly over an upraised flagstone and stumbling into the Prince’s side. He slid an arm around her waist and helped her right herself.

“I must confess myself surprised that you partook in so much drink,” Arden murmured, guiding Amy down a long, dark pathway, edged on both sides by eight-foot walls of neatly trimmed hedges. 

Amy raised her head to squint up at him. “That was nothing, you should have seen me at Kate Wentworth’s hen night…”

“In the Highlands women drink wine while cooking chickens? Forgive me for saying so, but if your servants are heavy with drink while preparing your meals I would suggest dismissing them.”

Amy snorted. “Servants? Ha! I wish…” she paused momentarily then smirked. “Well, maybe Rory…” Then she hiccuped and giggled, imagining Rory in pantaloons and tights.

“Ro-ry?” Arden repeated, the name sounding foreign in his mouth. “He is your manservant?”

Amy turned to look over at the prince at this question. “Yeeeees….” she agreed slowly, trying to look appropriately dignified, as a woman with a manservant ought to. “Rory is my manservant. He is my man-shaped servant-boy. Always there for me, usually. Except when he isn’t. Because the Doctor, and my running off with him and all, youknow…”

Down another long hedge corridor and around a few more corners, they at last entered the centre of the maze. There was the fountain as Arden had promised, as well as a couple of stone benches. Overhead, the starry sky was a glittering canopy, bathing their tiny, secluded courtyard in silvery light. Arden helped Amy over to one of the benches and they both sat down. 

Captivated as she was at the etherial beauty of the night sky reflecting off the water of the round, tiered fountain, it was some minutes before Amy realized Arden was staring at her. She felt her already flushed skin prickle at the intensity in his gaze, and shifted a little on the bench so she was sitting a little further away from him than before. 

“You and the Doctor are very close,” Arden said at last, and his question came out more like a statement. Amy straightened up and looked up at him.

“Yeah, he’s an idiot, but he’s handy to have around.”

“He is an intriguing man, your Doctor,” Arden went on, still looking at her with that penetrating gaze of his. “He has a certain…” he paused for a moment, looking as if he were searching for the proper word to convey his meaning. “We would say ‘ _sprezzatura_ ’.” He gestured vaguely in the air. “But there is something about him… one might say that he clings too tightly to practiced nonchalance. A man who strives so diligently to appear carefree and open is often the sort of man who hides the biggest secrets; wouldn’t you agree?”

Amy frowned at the prince. She would exactly agree. In fact, she had never heard the Doctor’s life summed up more succinctly than Arden had just done. However, there was something about the equally nonchalant way the prince was prodding her to talk about the Doctor that rubbed Amy the wrong way. She got semi-gracefully to her feet—only stumbling a little—and walked over to the fountain. Her face reflected up at her from the eerily still water.

“He’s been around a while,” Amy said, more to herself than to the man who had risen to his feet behind her. “He knows stuff… some things that can’t be shared…”

There was a muted crunching of gravel beneath boots and Amy felt Arden’s presence move from the bench to stand beside her. Very close beside her, in fact. She turned and almost smacked into him for the second time that night. Letting out of a very unladylike oath of surprise, she tried to take a step back—and knocked into the stone ledge of the fountain, wobbling precariously—Arden reached out and caught her elbows with both hands at the same time, just barely preventing Amy from taking a midnight swim… the result being Amy finding herself abruptly up close and personal with… well… alot of princely chest.

“He is not everything he seems to be, is he?” Arden said suddenly, and his fingers on Amy’s arms tightened fractionally. “The way he spoke with the Lady Cassandra…”

“He's a right puzzle,” Amy agreed, breaking into the middle of Arden’s speech and only half noticing the way his voice had taken on a new, more intense tone as he questioned her. She barrelled on, warming to her subject.“A riddle covered in a mystery, bundled up like a bloody brainteaser for the world to solve…” 

The stars overhead swirled as Amy pushed away from Arden’s chest in a huff. The Doctor _was_ still a mystery to her. She’d travelled with him for a long time by now, months at the least, though time was really relative while they were flitting about the universe in the TARDIS, and still, she barely knew anything about him.

“He knows _everything_ about me!” she exploded, glaring at the prince as if it was somehow his fault that this was so. “And yet every time there's something remotely interesting going on, it’s all ‘Don’t wander off, Pond.’ Well, I bloody want to wander! I’m not the child he left in the garden. I’m all grown up now, and I know things that would make his toes curl!” She flung her arms drunkenly into the air and nearly knocked something out of Arden’s hand as he reached toward her.

“Drink.” 

The single word cut into Amy’s tirade and she bit off her next sentence as a flask was thrust into her face. 

“W-what?”

“Normally I wouldn't offer a flask to a Lady,” Arden said, a wry smile on his handsome face, “but I think we can both agree that you are not an ordinary noblewoman, Lady Amy.”

Amy didn't wait to be asked twice. She grabbed the proffered flask, defiantly ignoring the fact that she really didn’t need to ply her system with anything more tonight, and took a hearty swig, promptly choking on the contents. 

“You don’t know the half of it, your princeliness,” she sputtered, and attempted to wink at Arden, feeling highly entertained at his mundane comment, but couldn’t seem to make her eyes work properly. Ending up squinting vaguely instead, Amy turned her mind back to more important things, such as the flask she still held. She drank again. 

“He tells me to stay put,” Amy muttered, stomping about the small courtyard, her gaze unfocused and her tone petulant, “then he runs off to chit chat with the space monks.” 

Swig. 

“ _I'll be right back, Amelia_ ,” she said mockingly.

Swig.

“ _Don’t wander off, Amelia_.”

Amy continued to pace back and forth in front of the fountain muttering to herself until the flask was nearly drained. When it was empty, she tossed it aside, barely noticing the faint splash the flask made as it landed in the fountain behind her, then turned sharply and marched back across the gravel to where Arden stood watching her with some amusement, trying to ignore the way the stars overhead spun across her vision in silver bursts. A few steps away from the prince she staggered, only just barely catching her balance before she face planted in the gravel. Arden was beside her in a moment.

“Are you quite alright?” 

Arden’s hands on her elbows were steadying, but light, and Amy blinked up into his face. There was nothing but open concern in his expression now, and she began to wonder if she had imagined the look in his eyes earlier. Struggling to pull her spinning thoughts back together, Amy blinked hard and backed up a few paces.

“I wish everybody would quite asking me that… _I’m fine_!” she expostulated, glaring at the prince. “Why does no one think I can handle a glass or two of wine? I only flashed that bloke out the top of the limo that one time… and bloody Kate never let me forget it either, just because he _happened_ to be her fiancé…”

Arden looked taken aback at this outburst and Amy flushed, this time more with embarrassment than anything else. Her head was feeling increasingly light and buoyant, like a balloon tethered to her body, and her pulse pounded in her ears. She leaned toward Arden and pressed a hand against his chest—not too far gone yet that she failed to notice just how hard and strong it was—then informed him—only slurring slightly:

“Don’t tell the Doctor—because god knows it’ll go straight to his overinflated ego—but I think he was right, I might need to go lay down… just for a bit…” She swayed then, and it was only Arden’s quick reflexes that saved Amy from taking her nap right then and there on the stoney ground.

**~OOO~**

It took the pair somewhat longer to make their way back to the palace from the hedge maze, than it had going out to it half an hour earlier. When they finally made it back into the banquet hall, Amy leaning heavily against Arden’s side, the Doctor was nowhere to be seen. The monks, and even Cassandra, had all vanished to the four winds as well. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, Amy realized, one monk still stood sentry by the wall next to the far doors of the room: Brother Cronus. 

They made their way toward him and Amy could somehow tell that the monk was watching their approach, despite the fact that his face was as yet still concealed within his cowl. The milling men and women from the banquet gave him a wide berth, and it seemed to Amy that they almost didn’t see him at all. She wondered briefly if Brother Cronus had some sort of modified perception filter on his person.

“Amy Pond, the Doctor has left instructions that I see you to your chamber upon your return. He will meet you there.”

Amy stared at the monk, trying to read any deeper meaning behind his words. Brother Cronus’ voice was the same deep, faint monotone sound as before though, and in her addled state she couldn’t fathom if there was something he wasn’t saying. Next to Amy, Arden frowned at Brother Cronus.

“You and your fellows brought the girl I left in your protection into the heart of my estate. Did you really _think it wise_?”

Amy turned at the sharpness that had taken over Arden’s normally smooth and charismatic voice. He sounded like he was attempting to suppress a much angrier comment. 

Brother Cronus turned his shadowed cowl on the prince. “The prophetess requested an audience with the Doctor.” His reply was as calm and toneless as ever, but Amy could sense a hint of warning in the monk’s voice nevertheless.

Arden took a step closer, such that he was almost nose-to-nose with Brother Cronus, and when he spoke again is voice was so low it was almost a hiss, and came out from between clenched teeth. He sounded really mad. “She could have seen him _tomorrow_. There was no need to risk bringing her _here_!”

“She was most insistent,” Brother Cronus returned, and the timbre of his voice vibrated with power. Even with her fuzzy mental state, Amy took a step back from the monk at these words. Prince Arden only narrowed his eyes.

“And where is she now?” he demanded, looking as if he was working to hold in a rising temper.

“She has been returned safely to her lodgings among the guardianship of the rest of my Order.” Brother Cronus replied, then turned his cowled face toward Amy, abruptly dismissing the prince from any further interaction. “Are you prepared to retire to your chamber, Amy Pond?”

Amy blinked, startled at being addressed so abruptly in the middle of what had sounded like a rather intense argument. “Um, yes?”

“Follow me.” Brother Cronus turned and began to do his strange gliding “walk” down the long hallway that led out of the banquet hall, without waiting to see if she doing as commanded.

“Um, I guess that’s my cue,” Amy said, smiling fuzzily at Arden, who didn’t notice for a few moments—too busy glaring after the retreating Brother Cronus. “Thanks for showing me your fountain and all.”

“Yes, the pleasure was all mine, of course,” Arden said vaguely, finally pulling his gaze from the monk’s back to look at back at Amy, politeness firmly reinstated. “I regret that you had to hear this discussion. Please forgive my rudeness.” And he lifted her hand once more to kiss her knuckles.

“A-already forgotten!” Amy chirped, and it practically was. Already the awkward argument between the prince and the monk was fading from her memory, all she really wanted at that moment was for Brother Cronus to show her to her room—and more importantly her bed.

“Good night, M’Lady,” Arden said, and then bowed slightly toward her before gesturing in Brother Cronus’ direction. “The Brother will show you to your chambers and see that the Doctor is directed toward his, upon his return. I will see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” Amy replied, and watched as the prince turned on his heel and strode back into the dining hall.

**~OOO~**

Arden had arranged for Amy and the Doctor to have suites across the hall from each other in the guest quarters of the castle, and Brother Cronus glided down one long hallway after another until he reached a tall wooden door, closed firmly to the world. Dimly recalling the labyrinthine journey to the banquet hall earlier that night, Amy wondered how anyone ever found their way around the palace without getting lost.

“Thanks for showin’ me my room, your monkship,” Amy said cheerfully, swaying slightly to the music in her own head as Brother Cronus lifted a shrouded arm and gestured at her door. She was riding a high of one too many drinks—including whatever concoction had been in the prince’s flask—and the whole world felt warm and dream-like.

“I will take my leave of you, Amy Pond,” Brother Cronus said, showing no reaction to her tipsy state in his tone of voice as he turned and began to make his way back up the hall.

“Sureeeee….” Amy slurred, giving the monk a drunken salute with one hand as she fumbled for the iron door handle. “Go back to your temple and get on with your chanting or whatever…” 

The door latch clicked just then and Amy tripped into the large room with a half-whispered, half-yelped, “Oops!” and did a drunken pirouette before breaking out into an off-key rendition of “I Could Have Danced All Night” from _My Fair Lady_. When her dizzying spins propelled her straight into the Doctor’s chest, he having apparently been waiting for her return in her rooms, and causing him to have to catch hold of her to prevent a stumble right into one of the stone walls, she squeaked in surprise then giggled up at him, barely noticing the way he narrowed his eyes.

“Oi! Hiding in the shadows again, are you, Doctor? Sheesh, you scared me!” Amy stepped a little away from the Doctor’s arms to squint at him. “I really could have danced all night, you know,” she informed him, grinning stupidly up into his face while she poked his chest with the pointer finger of her right hand. “But someone,” _Poke_. “thought,” _Poke_. “that I was too _inebriated_ to stay.” _Poke. Poke. Poke_.

“Where were you just now?” 

Amy frowned at the Doctor’s abrupt question and he stepped a little away from her, his expression working hard to remain neutral but betrayed by the coldness of his voice. 

“What?” Amy frowned, blinking hard to try and force the Doctor’s fuzzy form back into proper focus.

“I’m distinctly certain I told you stay put,” he reiterated, glaring at his unrepentant companion. Amy’s flushed face became even more more so, and her eyes narrowed.

“I was just getting some air with the Monarchy. Some people are less stuffy than you, Doctor. And anyway, you didn’t tell me to stay put, you said not to wander off. And I didn’t. Very much, anyway…” she added as an afterthought, and poked his chest again, to emphasize her point, stumbling a little as she did so.

The Doctor huffed and caught Amy’s wrist with one hand, steadying her stumble automatically with his other hand at her waist. “First of all: _ouch_. Of all the companions I’ve had over the years, and there have been a fair few, Amelia Pond, you are one of the most prone to violence—and that’s counting Leela and her penchant to attack first and ask questions if her victim was still breathing after everything was said and done. Secondly, once you’ve got your head on straight again, you’ll come to realize that it really isn’t prudent for you to flirt so brazenly with that royal imbecile if you don’t want to end up an actual _cortigiana_ , understand?”

Amy’s eyes had glazed over somewhat during this lecture and the Doctor had a long-suffering feeling that most of what he’d said had gone in one ear and straight out the other.

“He started it,” Amy muttered obstinately, completely missing the point of his rebuke and walking two fingers of her free hand up his chest with a pout. “It’s not my fault that my _wild beauty_ ,” here she grinned devilishly and shook out her long red hair, “captured the attentions of a prince.” Her walking fingers had danced their way up his shoulder and then Amy tapped his nose with one of them and giggled. “Don’t be jealous, Doctor…”

“ _What_? I’m not— That’s ridiculous— And completely beside the—” The Doctor’s glare intensified as he tried to work up a good retort to these words, in part due to the fact that Amy apparently had no idea—or did, but didn’t care—that her coquetry was gaining her undue attention in this time period, and in part because she was looking up at him with those pink cheeks and shining eyes and—

—and was pulling at his bow tie _with her teeth_.

“P-pond… n-now… now just get ahold of yourself…!” he gulped, swallowing hard and losing his train of thought for an instant while he tried to shift away from Amy’s advance. 

“I’d rather get a hold of _you_ …” she returned with a pointed look, and the Doctor felt his hearts skip a beat. He was no stranger to Amelia Pond’s forwardness, but giving-in to her was not something he could allow himself to do. No matter how inviting she looked just then. _I should have left you in that garden…_ he groaned silently. _Far less trouble I’d be in these days if I’d just left you in that garden and never come back…_

Despite the cool breeze wafting in from the open balcony doors, the Doctor found Amy’s room suddenly very hot. _Damn medieval castles and their ridiculously huge fireplaces,_ he thought grimly, releasing his grip on Amy’s waist so that he could bat away her wandering fingers, now plucking at his bracers. When he twisted awkwardly in an attempt to sidestep Amy’s lunge for his lapels, he realized that the fireplace was not, in fact, lit, and his body temperature seemed to rise another few degrees, enough to make him feel slightly dizzy himself. Right, then it must be the left over heat from dancing; yes, and all the wine he’d drunk—not that he was really feeling remotely intoxicated himself, since a Time Lord’s binary vascular system cycled alcohol out far more quickly than a human’s did.

“You’re the one who wandered off, Doctor,” Amy was saying, her words slurred slightly as she squinted her eyes at him, and looking put-out that he was being so difficult. He was reminded abruptly of a similar scenario in which Amy Pond had backed him up against the TARDIS door in another bedroom not so long ago. “It’s not really fair for you be upset with me for doing the same. And I was with our host, not lost, or gettin’ into trouble or anything…”

Finally released from Amy’s groping hands, the Doctor straightened his jacket and ran an agitated hand through his hair (rather pleased that this regeneration had come with an equally thick and glorious coif to his last one), trying to pull his scattered thoughts back together. Amy was right, really, though letting her know that just now would be to concede power, and after what Cassandra had told him tonight, he really needed Amy not to be impulsive and to listen when he told not to wander. 

“Perhaps—” he began, feeling the strain of the long day and everything he’d learned starting to weigh on him, but Amy wasn’t finished and cut across his next words.

“Why did you rush off, anyway? What was so important about that girl that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

She was frowning deeply at him, looking like she was beginning to work up to a proper Scottish temper over being left out of the fray once agin, and he sighed wearily. “It’s been a long day, Pond, we can discuss what the Brothers and Cassandra told me tomorrow. For now, I’d suggest you get out of that frock and try to sleep off our host’s generosity.”

For a long moment it looked to the Doctor like Amy was going to argue, then she seemed to sag, looking almost as exhausted as he felt. “Fine.” But that was all she said, and then she just stood there across form him, not moving. After thirty seconds of silence he cleared his throat and edged a half-step back toward his companion, wondering if she was alright. Amy hadn’t moved so much as a muscle since conceding their argument… Was she waiting for something? Could humans sleep standing up? With their eyes open? 

“Er…Amy?” He was just reaching out a hand to prod Amy’s shoulder when she raised a delicate eyebrow at him and spoke, making him flinch and yank his hand back in surprise.

“Honestly, Doctor, it took two people to wrestle me into this thing… Do you think it’s going to be that easy to get out of?”

He took a hasty step back, thrown by Amy’s comment. Warning bells had started to sound in the back of his head and suddenly being anywhere but where he was currently standing seemed like a very, very good idea.

“Er, right…. I’ll just call someone to help with that, shall I?” He began to back away toward the door, ignoring the pointed look Amy was giving him. Yes, definitely not noticing the way she narrowed her eyes and turned her back on him, only to glance over her shoulder and shoot him a coy smile.

“Help a girl out, won’t you, Doctor?”

_Crash! Thud._

The Doctor swore loudly, picking himself up from the chair he’d backed into, then knocked to the floor and fallen over. “R-really Pond, I’m sure there’s someone nearby. A maid, o-or a court lady, or I could just pop back Leadworth and pick up—” He swore again, remembering that the TARDIS was halfway across the city at that moment, and he’d forgotten to go pick it up again in the chaos surrounding Cassandra’s arrival earlier that evening.

Amy ignored this nervous babbling and marched back across the room until she was standing right in front of him, smirking. “Breathe, Doctor. I promise not to compromise your virtue while you undo my laces.” 

Before he could muster a properly scathing response to this completely inaccurate assumption, however, Amy had firmly turned her back on him once more and the Doctor found himself presented with a a series of lacing and small buttons, running from the top of the gown’s low neckline down its bodice, to the middle of Amy’s back. Swallowing with some difficulty, he unhappily raised shaking hands to begin his task. 

It wasn’t easy, he found, to unfasten Amy’s dress; and the fact that the buttons were so tiny that his long fingers had trouble manipulating them was only half the problem. The bigger, much more complicated, issue was that the more of them that he managed to pop open, the more of the creamy white skin of Amy’s back that was exposed when the finely-woven silk chemise under her gown slipped off one shoulder… the more flustered he felt himself getting, a fact that was echoed in the increasing clumsiness of his hands. 

_This is a bad idea, Amelia Pond_ , he thought darkly, forcing his eyes to stay focused on a particularly stubborn button and not to wander along the gentle curve of Amy’s shoulder, to linger on the back of her neck… _I really, really, should not be doing this. Because seeing you like this is bringing thoughts to the surface of my mind that I’ve worked very hard to keep suppressed_.

The last button popped free and the Doctor yanked at the lacing of the gown, trying to finish undoing it as quickly as possible without it seeming like he was obviously rushing. Meanwhile, as he’d been struggling with the back of the gown, Amy had fumbled open her sleeve covers and let the beautifully embroidered pieces of cloth flutter to the floor. 

Amy could feel the gown release her body like an almost physical exhale as the Doctor finished undoing the back. She hadn’t realized how heavy the fabric really was, and how much work it was to walk around in a dress such as the one she’d had on for the past eight hours. It only took a little shimmying to wriggle out of the loosened bodice and let the whole gown slide off her body with a _thwump_ to pool on the hardwood floor at her feet. She turned then, at a faint choking sound behind her, her chemise feeling delightfully light and cool after the stuffy ballroom and heavy gown.

The Doctor was standing a few feet away, wringing his hands and looking distinctly hot about the collar. His eyes, she noted, were flickering about the room looking anywhere but at her.

“Feeling alright, Doctor?” she teased, padding across the floor toward where he stood. “You look a little overheated… Maybe you should take something off, too?”

“I’m fine, Pond,” he returned icily, still looking everywhere but at her. J _ust walk away, Pond. Go to bed—to sleep—just go. Away. Quickly._

“You’re doing an excellent impression of a crazy person then,” Amy returned sweetly, moving even closer, a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s the eyes that sell it, really. The way they’re constantly moving, like there’s a hundred things to see…” She prowled around him like a cat; in fact he could almost feel her tail twining sinuously around his body as she moved.

“The architecture of this room is very interesting, is all, Amelia,” he heard himself retort rather primly, and could _feel_ the smirk widening on Amy’s lips even if he couldn’t see her face due to the fact that he’d squeezed his eyes shut and turned his back on her. Hurriedly, he pushed on, trying to distract himself as much her. “If you hadn’t indulged so much at dinner you might have noticed it yourself.” _Do not come any closer, Pond. If you do, Rassilon help me, I may not be responsible for what happens next._

Amy whisked around in front of him before he could turn away and pretend to have an awkward interest in the moulding curling about the fireplace, and he stiffened. 

“You’re the one acting coy now, Doctor,” she teased, standing in front of him with one shoulder bared, and he thought that she might as well have been wearing nothing at all despite the fact that the fabric of her chemise was a plain white material that covered her body nearly from neck to ankle.

Struggling to hold onto some semblance of decency, he took Amy firmly by the arms and held her body away from him. “It’s time for bed, Pond.”

Amy grinned wickedly at these words, her lips tipping up flirtatiously as she reached up and tugged on his collar. “If you insist, Doctor,” she drawled, the look in her eyes entirely too bold for his liking just then. He stepped back quickly, pushing Amy’s hands awkwardly off his person.

“Stop that!” he snapped, glaring at her and trying to fight off the rising blush Amy’s words had creeping up his neck; his bow tie suddenly felt like it was too tight. _Bloody Kiss-o-gram._ “Bed, Pond. You.” He paused for half a heartbeat then redoubled his glare. “ _Alone_ ,” he added firmly, when Amy continued to stand there making eyes at him. .

“I’m not tired,” Amy said stubbornly, and then, as if her body had decided to blatantly contradict her words, she swayed.

The Doctor was beside her in a moment, moving without conscious thought and catching Amy by her shoulders, all but forcing her to stand up straight. She was so obviously drunk that he wasn’t entirely sure how she’d managed to carry on a conversation this long in the first place. What he needed to do was to convince Amy to get into bed and then to remove himself from her room. Unfortunately, he was running out of options on how to carry out that task short of dragging Amy her across the room and bodily dumping her into the mattress.

“You need to sleep,” he said sternly, as much to himself as to Amy, who was now leaning against his chest and resting her head on his shoulder, looking up into his face and batting her eyelashes lazily. “Remember you’re supposed to be a proper noble-type person and I’m quite sure that showing up at breakfast with a hangover isn’t something that many of the upperclass did in this time period.” Actually, he was pretty sure that the practice was more common than modern records would have the populace believe, but there was no need to enlighten Amy to that little nugget of history.

“Tell me a bedtime story,” Amy murmured, closing her eyes and playing idly with his bow tie. 

His attention pulled back to Amy’s face, he thought that she looked far more innocent and child-like in that moment than she had minutes earlier, and the contrast between the Amy of Then and the Amy of Now was jarring. Enough so, really, that the Doctor was able give his head a shake and remind himself that Amelia Pond wasn’t the only one who needed to get ahold of herself. She was twenty. He was… well… more than that. A lot more. And had no business letting himself be swayed by any pretty young thing who batted her eyes at him—never mind that he’d travelled with a lot of attractive young companions over the years, he had always remained a step removed from all of them. He needed to _keep_ on doing that.

Glancing down, he saw that Amy’s breathing had evened out and she was leaning more heavily against him. Thank Rassilon, she’d fallen asleep. Shifting awkwardly, he wrapped one arm around her back and then pulled Amy up into his arms so that he could carry her to the bed on the other side of the room. 

The soft light from a flickering candelabra on a side table glinted off Amy’s coppery hair and painted her porcelain skin with delicate shadows as the Doctor laid her surprisingly light form down on top of the heavy coverlets of the elaborately carved wooden bed. She lay quietly, her chest rising and falling evenly, as he carefully withdrew his arms from around Amy’s body, and the sight of her vulnerable form struck a cord long-unplayed deep within him. He didn’t think he had ever seen a more beautiful creature in all of his lives.

Unable to resist, he bent over Amy and tenderly kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, Pond.”

As he was rising back up, Amy murmured something, pulling is attention away from the safety of her forehead to the danger zone of her soft, pink lips. She murmured again, and he found his head dipping closer, his ears straining to make out what Amy was trying to say as her mouth moved again, shaping words that he could only half-understand.

“What was that?” he said lowly, both afraid to wake her and unable to walk away without knowing what it was Amy wanted to tell him.

And then Amy’s eyes blinked open and she was lifting her arms and taking his face in her graceful-fingered hands, pulling him down toward her with a swift tug that caught him completely by surprise. “I said,” she repeated in a whisper that was far more _awake_ than he’d been led to believe, “that if you’re not going to tell me a story then you owe me a bedtime kiss, Raggady Man.” And she raised her head and pressed her lips firmly to his.

**~OOO~**

He should have pulled away immediately. He should have grabbed Amy Pond’s wrists, yanked them away from his face, and left her room. He should not have allowed his guard to drop for even a second, no matter that he’d been sure she was nearly completely sleep. And he should _definitely_ not be sliding one hand up Amy’s jaw to cradle her face against his palm.

_Stop. Stop it,_ now! _You are going down a dangerous path, Doctor, and you know it._ The words pounded an un-ignorable rhythm inside his skull and yet he just as stubbornly did just that—because Amelia Pond’s lips were soft and sweet, and she was running her fingers through his hair, her nails lightly grazing his head in a very distracting manner as she tried to pull him closer from where he held his body away from hers with the merest separation of one out-stretched arm…

It had been so long since he’d let himself break his one cardinal rule of taking travelling companions along with him in the TARDIS. So long since he’d let himself attempt to fill the void inside him…

With a herculean effort the Doctor wrenched his body away from Amy’s, breaking her grip easily and almost roughly pushing her back against the blankets, away from him, drawing a confused mutter of protest from her already swollen lips. 

“ _No_!”

He hadn’t meant to say the word aloud, but the angry growl of it cracked through the silence of the bedchamber like a gunshot, a verbal chastisement to his slip of control. To what he’d almost let himself give-in to… and Amy flinched back from it.

Staggering back from the bed, his fingers clenching and unclenching agitatedly as he tried to reign-in his turbulent emotions, the Doctor turned sharply and found himself facing Amy once more. She was sprawled against the pillows where he’d all but shoved her, staring over at him with hurt and confusion in her hazy eyes.

Pulling haphazardly at his jacket and patting nervously at his bow tie, he tried to regain control of the situation. “No,” he repeated, only slightly more in command of his voice, and still starting and stopping jerkily, unable to focus enough to untangle the thoughts inside his head. “ _You_ … a-and… and _I_ … we aren’t… _this_.” The Doctor cleared his throat and flapped his hands toward the bed, trying to encompass the whole situation that had almost taken place there. “Not happening. Because it’s… and _you’re_ … and…”

He could feel his pulse pounding double-time, which was one of the downsides to having two hearts really, and he fought to hold onto his focus. _Because seriously, Pond, if you’re going to kiss me me like that then you had better be prepared to follow through._

Out loud he seized on a sudden inspiration, wondering why he hadn’t thought of this very important reason before now. “Rory!”

Amy raised herself up on her elbows and stared at him. “ _Rory_?!” Her tone was incredulous, and the Doctor noted the way Amy’s eyes narrowed as she frowned at him.

“Yes, _Rory_. Lovely chap you’ve been stepping out with back home, remember him?” 

The Doctor had, in fact, completely forgotten about the boy Amy had told him she was seeing back in Leadworth. Well, sort of seeing. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Amy Pond seemed to forget that fact more often than she remembered it, even when the lad was standing right next to her. _Poor lump_ , he thought mildly; it was obvious that the boy was more infatuated with Pond than the other way around. 

“ _Stepping out with_?” Amy repeated mockingly, glaring at him fully now. “What is this, the 1950s?”

Feeling irked that Amy was ignoring the point once again, the Doctor straightened to his full height and glared right back. “Of course not, but it very well could be. Maybe I should drop you off there while I sort out this mess with Cassandra, you could learn a thing or two about behaving like a lady and stay out of trouble!”

Amy’s face flushed bright red, this time with obvious outrage. The Doctor pressed his lips tightly together. He hadn’t really meant to say so much, but the words had just slipped out. Either way, this speech had the desired effect, and Amy rolled over on her plush bed with a hiss like an angry cat, presenting her back to him in the same dismissing manner.

“ _Goodnight_.”

The word was so cold that the Doctor half-expected to see icicles hanging in the air between them, but he nodded at Amy’s back, muttered a low “Goodnight, Pond,”, and when she refused to acknowledge him again, made his way out of her room and across the hall to his own, where he would lay awake on his own bed, trapped alone with is thoughts, until the sun rose the next morning.

**~OOO~**

**Thanks for reading, everyone! Sorry that I don’t update as often as I’d like, but I promise that I’m working hard on the next chapter, so please leave me a note if you’re reading so I can be inspired to get it out faster! ;)**

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello dear readers! So nice to see you back for chapter four, and also to read your comments on the developments of chapter three. ;)**

 

**~OOO~**

 

-Chapter 4-

 

The next morning Amy woke up with a headache and fuzzy recollection of the past night’s events. She dimly recalled music, and dancing… Actually, dancing with the Doctor. She stretched in bed, luxuriating in the soft mattress and feather pillows. The Doctor. And dancing. He had actually been a surprisingly good dancer. For a man who had spent half of their time together sprinting about on legs that seemed over-long for his body, and trying not to trip over his own feet, the Doctor had been—she hated to admit it—smooth. 

Amy was no stranger to the Doctor’s over-confidence in himself; he often had to talk their way out of crazy situations, and more than half the time that simply involved bluffing until their opponent was uneasy enough that they doubted themselves… thus giving Amy and the Doctor the opportunity to make their escape. But this had been a different type of confidence. The Doctor had changed on the dance floor, when he’d easily guided Amy through the steps of several deceptively simple-looking dances, his movements sure and unerring. And the way he’d looked at her as she’d danced across from him…

_“This sort of dancing, Pond, is all about the intimacy… of the almost-touch…”_

The words the Doctor had murmured just before the music had started drifted across Amy’s sleepy mind and pulled her into full wakefulness. Just what had he meant by that? The dances had, she recalled, involved little to zero actual contact with the men and women’s partners, but when they’d come together with arms entwined and fingers all but brushing—all still without actually touching—there had been a certain feeling in the air. The fact that touching your dancing partner was ‘verboten’ made the naughtiness of nearly doing so feel especially more potent.

And the look in the Doctor’s eyes as he’d watched her movements, spinning in the candlelight with her arms gracefully extended… 

Amy shoved back her covers and swung her legs over the side of the huge bed, her bare feet poking out from beneath her long, silky chemise. The Doctor’s burning gaze had surely been a product of the many goblets of wine they’d had a dinner. Arden hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he’d make sure their glasses would never be empty. The thought of wine woke up the headache Amy had been studiously ignoring until then, and she squeezed her eyes shut in protest.

Just then the door on the other side of the bedroom banged open and the Doctor burst in. “Up and at ‘em, Pond! The early bird gets the worm and all that fiddle faddle!” 

Amy blinked dazedly across the room as the Doctor strode purposefully inside and started toward her, pausing only to yank open the heavy curtains that had been closed across the balcony doors sometime in the night, as he went. She yawned and pushed a lock of long red hair out of her face. 

“Doctor, what time is it?”

The Doctor was now busy buzzing his sonic screwdriver at the flickering embers of the fireplace which promptly blazed into a merry flame. “Seven-fifteen,” he answered, sounding far more cheery than Amy thought this time of day warranted.

“There’s one of those in the morning?” she muttered, flopping back onto the covers she’d just pushed back. 

“Up, Pond. Time to _carpe_ some _diem_.” The Doctor was clattering about with a pitcher and bowl on a table next to the bed now, and the tinny banging of the silver jug against the bowl aggravated the headache throbbing at the back of Amy’s skull.

“Doctor, it’s _seven AM_ ,” she groaned. “Come back when the sun is awake.” 

“Seven-fifteen, Pond,” he corrected from somewhere behind her, and Amy considered rolling her eyes, but discarded the thought as involving too much effort this time of morning, “and the sun has been up for hours already. Now get up.”

“The early bird may get the worm, Doctor, but the second mouse gets the cheese.” Amy muttered, rolling over and hugging her pillow, already half-way asleep again. The sound of pouring water sloshing into a metal bowl lulled Amy toward dreamland, pulling her into a vision about a waterfall.

“Second mouse?” came the Doctor’s voice from much closer than Amy had expected considering where she was curled up and the Doctor’s normal penchant for avoiding anything to do with intimacy. She rolled over to squint up at him just as he continued, “Wouldn’t the first mouse get the cheese, having arrived before the second mouse? Like the bird and the worm?” He paused, and frowned, obviously over-thinking the whole scenario. “I’d prefer cheese myself, to worms, though the Knights of Silon in the Ecton Sector once served some sort of insect larva that had an interesting taste to it…” He blinked owlishly into Amy’s eyes, then seemed to notice the way she was glaring at him, now properly awake. 

“The second mouse gets the cheese because the first mouse woke it up too early and then brought about its demise in a sleep-deprived fit of rage, thus securing any cheese gained by the first mouse’s ridiculously early rising.” Amy replied in suspiciously dulcet tones, her fingers reaching around behind her to curl around the pillow she had just been nestling against. 

The Doctor frowned at her, looking skeptical. “I don’t think that’s exactly what that saying means—” he started, but Amy’s groping fingers had secured her pillow now and she swung it through the air, catching the Doctor off guard and beaning him in the side of the head. He yelped and disappeared from sight, taking Amy’s pillow down with him.

Satisfied that she’d finally shut the Doctor up, Amy sat up once more. “And now I’m awake,” she announced grumpily, crawling up to the side of the bed to peer over the side and down to the floor where the Doctor was sprawled. “You’d better have a good reason for getting me up this early, Raggedy Man.”

Flat on his back on the floor, the Doctor’s face split into a grin as he looked up at Amy. “Yes, Amelia, I do.”

 

**~OOO~**

 

And he did. The Doctor had been up for hours already, thinking over how best to confront Amy about what Cassandra had told him last night. He’d been afraid, at first, that Amy would still be mad at him for pushing her away the previous evening, but he’d decided that instead of bringing up that disaster himself he’d pretend nothing had happened and act as normally as possible, in the hope that because of her drunken state Amy Pond would wake up with no recollection of the previous night’s events and save him the trouble of having to defend himself against his actions.

He had been both relieved and, and in the most secret place of his hearts, a tiny bit disappointed, that Amy had woken that morning and showcased no memory of the way she’d thrown herself at him, and his consequent rejection of her. He wondered if, like he was, Amy was also trying to save face by pretending nothing had happened between them. He knew that a lot of things simply rolled off Amy Pond’s back, she was just that type of girl. When she’d come-on to him in her bedroom that one night shortly after they’d first met, and he’d rebuffed her in a similarly indignant, yet rather more kind fashion than he had last night, she’d recovered easily. And he’d wondered if she had really only been teasing him, just playing around because she didn’t take him as seriously as he took himself.

He’d been harsher last night, he thought to himself, as Amy, still peering over the edge of her bed at him, her long red hair spilling over the edge of the mattress and tickling his cheek with its silky ends, agreed to go out with him, regardless of the early hour. Despite the annoyance in Amy’s voice, she didn’t sound like she was angry with him, and he took it as a reward from the Universe that he’d stuck to his morals and not allowed himself to take advantage of his companion, no matter how much he’d wanted to in the moment. Bringing up the boy—Rory—had been a much-needed splash of cold water on both their states of minds, and he wondered briefly if he should fly the TARDIS back to the twenty-first century and pick up Pond’s on-again off-again boyfriend as a chaperone—as much for himself as for Amy.

It was then that he realized the look on Amy’s face had changed from mild annoyance for his early-morning interlude to the sort of intrigued-concern for his mental state that she often got when he suggested something she considered particularly ludicrous. 

“Er… yes?”

Amy raised one delicate eyebrow at him. “Are you plannin’ on laying there all day or are you going to get out of my room so I can get dressed?”

The question was intended to tease him, to nudge just a bit at his scruples so that he’d react, and he did. Of course he did. Because Amy’s innocent comment brought rushing back to mind the way he’d been coerced into helping her with just the opposite action not too many hours ago. And thinking of _that_ brought to mind the way the curve of her back had looked, clear, smooth skin… more and more of it revealed as he undid the back of her dress… inch by frustrating inch…

Whether or not Amy was able to see the way the Doctor’s face turned bright red wasn’t an issue, because he scrambled up off the floor so quickly he nearly knocked foreheads with her, a fate Amy only escaped by yanking her head out of the way at the last second. 

“Right, leaving. I need to discuss something with the local royalty anyway. We’ll be going in twenty minutes, Pond.” And with that he blew out the door in a tweed whirlwind, leaving Amy crouched on the bed, staring after him in confusion.

When Amy appeared in the requisite time, lead by the same young maid who’d directed them to the banquet hall the night before, the Doctor saw that she was wearing a much simpler dress. This one was a pale green with coppery-coloured embroidery that offset her eyes and hair to such an extent that he wondered if the gown had been specially made for her. The style of the gown was similar in fashion to the one she’d worn the evening previous, but the fabric was lighter and more airy, much easier to move around in. The white silk of her chemise billowed from her unrestrained sleeves—no arm coverings today—and delicately runched around her bare shoulders, drawing the Doctor’s eye to other places he was determined _not_ to notice.

“Alright, I’m here. Let the proceedings commence!” 

The Doctor pulled his gaze back to Amy’s face as she glided regally into the entrance hall, eyes bright and red hair loose about her shoulders. It was amazing, really, how she somehow managed to look both like a medieval princess and a modern girl in fancy dress at the same time. There was no one else in the hall besides the Doctor and a single guard he’d been talking too, and he quickly dismissed the young man, not particularly liking the interested look he was giving Amy as she came in. The maid who’d followed Amy in took her cue from this, and bobbed a quick crusty before scurrying away whence she’d come. 

Amy curiously watched the palace workers leave, frowning slightly. “Okay, so what’s with all the secrecy? I thought you were discussing things with Arden?”

“Where did you get that dress?” Amy blinked at him, looking a little surprised that at his interest. She ought to be, he hadn’t meant to ask the question, it had flown to his lips and out into the wild before he could stop it.

“It was laying over a chair in my room when I got up. I thought you left it there.” She spread out a length of the skirt and the sunlight pouring in from a side window caught and glittered on the bronze brocade pattern covering the fabric. 

“No, I didn’t.” He worked to keep his voice neutral. It shouldn’t matter that the dress had obviously been a gift from the prince. _But the fact that Pond looks like a goddess in that gown and_ he _was the one to make her look so…_

“Oh, it must be from—”

“Lady Amy, you are a vision in the morning light, such that Dawn herself would turn green with envy.”

Both Amy and the Doctor turned to look to the left, where Prince Arden, looking fully rested and resplendent in dark trousers, tall boots, and a tunic that looked suspiciously matched to Amy’s dress, was walking toward them.

“I am relieved to see that the dress fits, I had the royal seamstresses tailoring through the night to make it so. I am sure it wasn’t a difficult task for them, as you are such a willowy and graceful woman.”

“Um, thanks.” Amy smiled at the prince as he came to a stop beside the Doctor, who, she noted, looked distinctly nettled at this reception. “It’s beautiful.”

Arden turned the full force of his handsome grin on her. “I recalled late in the night that your trunks hadn’t arrived and knew that you must not be forced to wear the same gown two days in a row, what would those gossiping ladies in waiting think of your character?” He tipped her a wink and Amy’s grin widened. She’d have happily lived in the blue dress the rest of her life, quite honestly. It was the prettiest thing she’d ever owned, and she was grateful to the Doctor for giving it to her—even if it had been his fault she hadn’t been properly attired in the first place. But the green dress was just as gorgeous and she began to wonder if returning home to Leadworth was really so important…

“Good morrow, Doctor,” Arden said, finally turning his eyes to where the Doctor stood stiffly next to Amy.

“And to you,” he replied tensely, attempting not to curl his fingers into fists at the twinkle in the other man’s eye. _Get a grip, Doctor, there’s nothing in the cosmic rulebook that forbids another man from being pleasant to a female in your company. No matter how smarmy he seems, or oblivious the female in question is in return…_

“You have risen rather early, have you not?” Arden continued, not seeming to notice the Doctor’s cool response. “Where are you off to?”

“Mystery Tour,” Amy supplied, stepping forward. “He’s famous for them. Just shows up and drags you away, not a care in the world if you’re even in your nighty… Or,” she added, rubbing her temple and slanting a look at the Doctor,“over-indulged the night before—seriously, Doctor, my head is still killin’ me. Couldn’t this have waited another three hours?”

Arden was frowning deeply as he looked between them. “I thought that the two of you merely travelling companions, but the Doctor has abducted you in the middle of the night watch in nothing but your chemise…?” He turned sharply toward Amy. “I had been told that this man was highly respected and a well-informed scholar who could help me decipher the prophetess’ words, but if he is as dastardly as you claim I will not hesitate to have him clapped in irons and thrown into the deepest pit of hell!” 

The prince moved to stand in front of Amy, blocking her from the Doctor. A moment later there was a strangled sound beside her, and Amy turned to look at the Doctor. His high cheekbones had tinted red and he was frowning just as deeply back at the pair of them, looking thoroughly insulted.

“I never forced you to come with me, Amelia Pond,” he said softly, his voice strained as he worked to keep it calm, though she could see the hurt in his eyes at her unintentional insinuation. “As I recall it was you who insisted I bring you with me. And _you_!” He spun to face Arden, straightening his lean form so that he was almost as tall as the other man and glaring at him as he puffed out his chest, trying to look halfway as imposing as the well-muscled ruler across from him. “I’ll thank-you to stop jumping to conclusions about my character. You don’t know me half as well as you ought to, and that is something that you should think very carefully on.” 

There was something in the way he stated the words that made the hairs on the back of Amy’s neck stand up. It wasn’t that the Doctor looked all that intimidating, because physically he really wasn’t, but there was something underneath his casually stated words that reminded Amy of the way she’d seen him chase off the Atraxi and then called them back to chastise them—he might look insignificant and nonthreatening, but but there was a hidden, darker side to the man across from her that most people ought to be grateful they never saw, and she knew it.

“I was only teasing, Doctor,” Amy heard herself say as she stepped around from behind Arden, feeling a little ruffled at his display. There was a fine line between chivalry and acting like a girl couldn’t take care of herself, and the prince’s words had been heading across it. “It’s really a funny story…” She glanced over at the Doctor but his stony expression made her rethink the sharing of the tale. “That is, it’s more of a ‘you had to be there’ sort of funny.” She cleared her throat and tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. “The point is, there will be no need to throw anyone anywhere, the Doctor and I are friends; nothing nefarious, promise. Early risings notwithstanding.” Amy added as an afterthought, then flashed the prince a disarming smile, which he returned after only a hint of hesitation. Next to her, the Doctor still looked annoyed, but he allowed Amy to cross back and stand next to him. 

“We should be on our way,” the Doctor said cooly, his eyes still locked on Arden. “We have an appointment to keep. As I was unable to find you earlier, I left instructions with one of your guards.” Amy noticed that he didn’t mention where they were going to the prince either, which meant that it must affect him somehow. She wondered why it was that the Doctor was being so secretive today. He’d seemed off ever since she’d woken up that morning.

Arden hesitated another moment, and it looked as if he were trying to think of a way to either placate the Doctor’s wounded pride or push him further. In the end, he mustered up his usual charming smile and gave both of them a small nod. “Of course, forgive me, Doctor, Lady Amy. Shall I arrange a carriage for you?”

The Doctor shook his head. “We aren’t going far.” And then he turned on his heal and marched toward the doors, reaching out to tug Amy’s elbow as he passed so that she stumbled slightly and then hurried to keep pace with him.

“Oops! Okay then, going now,” she said, trying to keep a smile on her face for the Prince’s sake as the Doctor propelled her toward the exit. “See you later!”

“I look forward to it.”

**~OOO~**  

The prince’s words followed Amy outside before the heavy wooden door closed behind them. Once it did, she dug in her heels and forced the Doctor to stop moving.

“Okay, what the hell is the matter with you?”

At Amy’s words the Doctor stopped his quick pace, but he didn’t turn. He wasn’t exactly sure what the matter was, he only knew that he had needed to get out of the palace and its confining walls.

“Doctor?” The annoyance in Amy’s voice had lessened somewhat and she now sounded concerned. “Is everything okay?”

He turned slowly to face her. The gentle breeze lifted strands of Amy’s red hair and the sunlight glinted off her dress and the highlights of her hair. He swallowed with some difficulty. “We need to keep our appointment, Pond,” he repeated, and watched her lips draw downward as she noted his obvious avoidance of her question. 

“You were being very rude, just now,” she pointed out, and he sighed heavily, starting to walk again so that she would be forced to follow or give up on interrogating him—something he knew Amy Pond wasn’t likely to do.

“Yes, Pond, perhaps I wasn’t as cordial as usual,” he replied dryly, once they’d made their way down the palace steps and begun to walk up the road toward the centre of town. “But that tends to happen when people threaten to put me in jail.”

He could feel Amy rolling her eyes as she walked beside him. “He wouldn’t have thrown you in the dungeon, Doctor. Arden was just trying to—”

“Protect your virtue? Make sure that the innocent red-haired maiden wasn’t corrupted and taken advantage of?” the Doctor cut in sarcastically before he could stop himself. He stopped walking then and turned to look over at Amy. Why couldn’t she see that Arden wasn’t a fairytale prince any more than he’d been the magic man in her childhood dreams? He could see the way Amy was infatuated with smooth charm with which Arden lived his life. Yes, Arden was an extremely charismatic man, but he’d really thought that Amelia Pond had more common sense than to be swept off her feet by the first bloke to flash her a smile and promise her the stars. And no, the irony in that sentiment was not lost on him, he thought bitterly.

Amy came to a stop a few paces ahead of the Doctor, brought up short at the sharpness in his voice. The Doctor had been acting uncharacteristically squirrelly ever since the banquet the previous evening, and while his erratic mood swings weren’t anything new to her, something about his actions today bugged her. She glared back at him. 

“Arden has been nothing but a gentleman to me,” she snapped, frowning deeper at the narrowing of the Doctor’s eyes. “And if anyone needs protecting here, it’ll be _you_ from _me_ if you don’t back the hell off.” 

The Doctor’s glare intensified, though privately he thought that Amy was quite right about that. Especially considering the previous night’s shenanigans in her bedchamber. Amy charged on as he considered this, however, and the Doctor struggled to hold back his rising temper as she did so.

“Arden is protecting Cassandra from people who don’t understand her gift and he only threatened you because he misunderstood what happened between us.”

But even as she spoke, something nudged at Amy’s memory. The previous evening was mostly a wined-blurred dream, but saying Cassandra’s name out loud had reminded Amy of the way the prince had seemed more than just concerned at her arrival at his palace—he’d seemed unnaturally angry. More than seemed necessary, for a man who claimed to be looking out for her best interests. Before she could share this bit of information with the Doctor, however, he cut in.

“Open your eyes, Pond, and stop letting yourself be blinded by wit and charm; it’ll only get you into trouble.”

The Doctor’s voice had been low, and the person he’d been speaking about had been obvious, even to Amy’s agitated mind, but her hackles were up now, and so she snapped her next words without meaning to. “You would know. _Twelve_ years and _four_ psychiatrists.”

The Doctor flinched as though she’d struck him. It had been ages since Amy had brought up the traumatic childhood he’d unconsciously inflicted on her, and hearing her remind him of it now only drove home the point he’d been trying to make himself believe since the previous evening: he was not a good person to be in Amy’s life. He needed to distance himself more, not less, if he wanted to protect her.

Amy could see the way her words hit the Doctor and way he paled before straightening his shoulders and shoving an agitated hand through his hair. She could see the way his expression closed off and his lips tightened for a moment before he seemed to decide on something. She wanted to speak, to apologize, because though her childhood hadn’t always been the happiest, she had been vindicated in the end, hadn’t she? After all, she was standing in sixteenth century Italy wearing a gorgeous dress and helping solve a mystery. Her life would have been different in so many ways if she hadn’t met the Doctor, both then and now, and she wouldn’t have given it up for anything.

“I have apologized for that many times,” the Doctor’s quiet voice cut into her thoughts, and she could hear the hurt underlaying his angry words. “I don’t see the good in doing so again if my words are so meaningless to you, Amy Pond. But if you believe nothing else I say to you, please trust me on this: stay away from that prince.”

“Why? Is your spidey-sense tingling?” 

Her question was just as sarcastic as his earlier comment, but it somehow defused the building tension between them, and the Doctor allowed himself to smile, even if the result was a thin version of his regular boisterous grin. “I would pretend not to have any idea what you’re talking about, Amelia, but unfortunately I have seen seen variations of that _hero_ ,” —he said the word with a distinct distaste— “over the years… and _really_ , don’t you humans have more imagination than to just keep respawning the same character over and over every few years? There’s a much wider range of what you might call ‘superheroes’ out there than those I’ve seen on the BBC!”

Amy breathed a sigh of relief as the Doctor ranted. She hated fighting with him. They rarely argued, in the truest sense of the word, and she was glad that he seemed to be letting go of whatever had been bothering him earlier. They started to walk again and she bumped his side with her hip, attempting a half smile. “Would one of those heroes be called ‘The Doctor’?” she teased. “Defender of space and the known universe, with his magic bow tie?”

Reflexively, the Doctor’s hand reached to pat the bow tie he’d put on every morning since he’d regenerated. “Bow ties are cool, Pond. And they’ve saved more than one universe.”

Amy snorted next to him, but was inwardly relieved. She hadn’t meant to insult the Doctor, and honestly, she had forgiven him for the mix-up with the TARDIS ages ago. It hadn’t been fair of her to bring it up now just to get in a dig at him. They were both supremely stubborn people and because of that it was much easier for both Amy and the Doctor to dig in their heels instead of admitting they’d made a mistake.

They walked on in silence for a few minutes and Amy studied the Doctor’s profile as they went. He had a habit of ducking his head down when he was thinking hard about something, a movement that brought the image of a vulture to Amy’s mind, and she swallowed back a laugh, reminding herself that that probably wasn’t a fair comparison to make, let alone comment aloud on, especially when she and the Doctor were still on tenterhooks. After another minute her conscience couldn’t take it any longer and she had to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, voice almost quiet enough not to be heard. Glancing over at the Doctor as he continued to walk beside her, eyes straight ahead, Amy wondered if he hadn't heard her. Or worse, he had, but had chosen not to accept her apology, despite everything. 

They continued to walk in silence down a narrow and uneven cobbled road, squashed between two tall buildings that might have some sort of apartments, and still the Doctor said nothing. Amy had almost given it up for lost when the Doctor stopped abruptly and turned to look at her. The tall buildings on either side of them blocked out most of the sun, and the road beneath her feet was damp and muddy; Amy shivered as a breeze blew past, waiting for the Doctor to speak.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said a last, and offered her a small smile, as genuine as it was sad. “I know that you’re independent and strong-willed, and those are some of the things I like best about you, but you need to start trusting me, okay?”

Amy watched as the smile faded with the Doctor’s words. “I do trust you,” she said softly, “but it goes both ways, you know?”

Across from her, the Doctor looked very tired. “You’re right, of course you’re right.” He shoved a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up and ruffle in the breeze blowing past them, and then knocked on a door Amy hadn’t noticed until that moment. “And I am trying, Amy, I promise you I am. But I think you’ll see that this time you really need to do what I tell you without questioning why.”

Amy had opened her mouth to do just that, when the door the Doctor had rapped on opened, and Cassandra stood framed in the doorway. The question on Amy’s lips changed from “Trust is built on honesty, Doctor,” to “What the hell is Cassandra doing here and not hidden away in St. Michael’s monastery like Brother Cronus told Prince Arden last night?” in the space of a heartbeat, but before she could draw breath to get either comment out in the open, the Doctor was hurrying her inside and slamming the door firmly behind them.

The room they found themselves in now was lit only by a single candle, all windows firmly shuttered and the door latched behind them as soon as Cassandra had seen the pair of them safely inside. Amy took in a battered table and a couple of chairs, and a doorway with a questionable set of stairs leading to an upper floor across the room, but otherwise the space was vacant. Cassandra gestured to the chairs with one slim, white hand, and offered Amy a tiny smile.

“Doctor, Lady Amy, thank-you for agreeing to meet with me, and for your discretion last evening.” Here she nodded to the Doctor, who inclined his head silently back at her, while Amy stared between the two of them, looking lost. “I trust the Doctor has filled you in on my message?” Now Cassandra turned her dark eyes on Amy, and her delicate face wrinkled in a frown when Amy stared blankly back at her.

“Sorry, no,” Amy said cooly, slanting her eyes at the Doctor who was hovering next to the chair she’d seated herself on. She wasn’t particularly in the mood to rehash the way the Doctor had ditched her in the middle of the ballroom to go flirt with his latest renaissance interest, and didn’t really care if she got him in trouble by not helping him out. “Lord Forgetfulness here, hasn’t mentioned you once since abandoning me in the ballroom to go chat with you last night.”

Cassandra’s frown deepened, though Amy’s sarcasm appeared to go right over her sixteen century head, and she turned her gaze on the Doctor who wore an odd expression on his face at Amy’s words. “I thought I had impressed on you the importance of my message, Doctor,” she said severely, her pretty, heart-shaped face twisting in a mix of annoyance and urgency. “You swore to me that you would pass on my warning with most haste!”

Now Amy noticed the Doctor’s strange expression as well, and he cleared his throat, not quite meeting either of their eyes. It wasn’t like him not to share such apparently vital information with her. Actually, she reconsidered—thinking back on the many, many times, the Doctor had given her an order to keep out of trouble and then hurdled himself merrily right into the middle of it, without explaining why he was doing so—it was exactly like him.

“I was going to, that is… *ahem*… circumstances prevented me from carrying through with my promise just then, but as we’re all together now, lead on!” 

Amy frowned at the strangely penetrating look the Doctor was shooting her way as he spoke. She felt a little guilty somehow, as if she had done something to prevent the Doctor from keeping his word, though she couldn’t for the life of her recall what she might have done. She hadn’t seen him between the ballroom and his ridiculously early wake-up call that morning, after all.

Cassandra closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, looking as if she was trying to keep her temper in check. When she spoke again her voice sounded sweetly strained. “I came to the palace last night because I received a premonition after you left the monastery. I am relieved that, despite the Doctor’s apparent lack of concern for his companion,” she threw the Doctor a disgusted look and Amy swallowed a laugh at the chastised expression on his face, quickly schooling her features into neutrality when the Doctor caught her at it and turned his glare on her, “you are alright. But tell me, did anything strange happen to you yestereve? Any discordant events or conversations?”

Amy felt a chill skitter down her spine. One particular conversation jumped straight to the front of her mind but she felt hesitant, somehow, to share it. Both Cassandra and the Doctor were staring at her as if expecting Amy to have some nefarious story to tell them, but she didn’t. Not really. The whole thing with Arden at the end of the night had been due to his concern for Cassandra’s safety, hadn’t it?

“Well…” she began slowly, trying to sort through the hazy events of the previous night for anything relevant to share, “I got a bit of a creepy feeling when I was around the monks. Those monks are like ghosts. I mean, they don’t even make a sound when they walk or anything!” 

Cassandra looked a little disappointed at this, as if she’d expected some big revelation and had been let down. Still, she dutifully pressed on. “The Brothers are holy men, you are not. It is only natural that you should feel ill at ease around them; they are removed from mere mortals such as us.” 

Amy fought not to tell Cassandra just how far removed the Brothers were from such ‘mere mortals’ as herself, but Cassandra had continued on without pause and so Amy stifled her amusement and did her best to listen.  

“But did one of them do something in particular that caused you to feel fear or anger? I was meditating in the monastery garden when the premonition came over me and most all of the Brothers were in prayers. They have forsworn to protect me under the order of Prince Arden, if one of them has gone rogue, I must know at once.”

Amy considered, then shook her head. “No, I didn’t get any sort of really _bad_ feeling from them; just a bit unsettling. Brother Cronus was kind enough to me when he showed me to my room last night—” She broke off then, recalling the power that radiated from the monk when Arden had started arguing with him. “Though he got into it a bit with Arden after we came in from the garden.”

The Doctor broke in at this. “What happened, Amy? What did they say exactly?”

Amy frowned, trying to recall the details. “Not much, just that Arden was upset that Cassandra had come to the palace without his permission or knowing about it, and Brother Cronus basically told him to calm the hell down because Cassandra had something important to do and she would not be denied.” Amy smirked a little at this, and even Cassandra’s lips twitched faintly. The Doctor rolled his eyes, looking as if he knew more than a little bit of what the monk was going through.

“Brother Cronus is the kindest of the monks,” Cassandra said, looking relieved at Amy’s assurance that Cronus wasn’t the cause of her ill feeling. “It is he who convinced them to take me in when the visions first came upon me. He is more indulgent to my whims than the others, so it wasn’t difficult to convince him to take me to the palace last evening, despite the Prince’s wishes that I keep away from the public eye.”

“You said Arden was angry that Cassandra was there?” the Doctor prodded, drawing their attention back to the most important point, or so he felt. “Did anything else happen last night, even something that might seem insignificant to you, Amy? Premonitions often signal future dangers, so if anything felt off to you…”

Amy stood up and stared the Doctor down, something having just occurred to her. “You keep going on about what happened with me yesterday, but how do you even know that this whole premonition thing was about me in the first place?” She turned on Cassandra. “You said you had a bad feeling, did this feeling come with an image or a label? Anything that proves I’m the one is danger here? I mean, your bad feeling could have been about the Doctor! Lord knows he gets himself in enough trouble without the fates trying to keep up warning others about it…”

Amy tried to laugh off the cold feeling that was settling over her body like a shroud, but the Doctor didn’t rise to her teasing comments like he normally did, and Cassandra’s dark eyes seemed to draw Amy into their bottomless depths as she spoke one word:

“ _Amatus_.”

Amy blinked. “Huh?” she managed eloquently.

The Doctor sighed deeply beside her. “What Cassandra means is that the name Amatus came to her during her meditation on the prophecy she gave. Naturally, it could only mean one thing.”

Cassandra nodded, stepping closer to where Amy stood, feeling shaky, next to the Doctor. “I regret that I did not make the connection sooner, but now that the vision is becoming more clear to me, I realized who it must mean.”

Amy took a step backward, feeling cornered in the small, dark room, especially with the flickering candle light making Cassandra’s eyes glow strangely with reflected images of the tiny flame. Feeling her heart start to race, Amy turned frightened eyes on the Doctor. “What’s she talking about? I’m not even from this time,” she hissed, trying to hide her terrified words from the prophetess in the silent room. “How can her vision have anything to do with me?”

The Doctor turned to face her and took Amy’s hands in both of his. “Because, Pond, the vision came only after we arrived. And you were named in it.”

Amy squeezed the Doctor’s hands tightly, trying to leech some of the warmth in his strong grip into her suddenly freezing cold fingers. “I wasn’t…” But the protest came out in a whisper.

“You were,” he contradicted her quietly. “Amatus, Pond. Ancient Italy. Don’t you see?” He held Amy’s gaze with his own, keeping his eyes and expression steady, then murmured low, so that only she could hear. “TARDIS translation circuit, Pond. You wouldn't have noticed it, I suppose, because the translation is so seamless, but everyone has been calling you by that name since we arrived.”

“But we’re in Italy,” Amy responded woodenly. “They speak Italian here.”

The Doctor’s expression softened a tiny bit and his lecturing reply came automatically. “Technically the general populace speaks a majority of Italian, but in the Courts Latin is as common as not. The two languages borrow from each other as often as English does from French, and, as you might recall in your time, also Latin. It’s a language that has dominated a goodly part of your world without you even knowing it. But the point, Pond, is that Amatus and Amy are one and the same. Your given name in the future came from a variation on the Latin name. Cassandra told me last night that it was looking you straight in the eyes in the courtyard at St. Michael’s that brought on her vision. Amatus refers to you, make no mistake.”

Amy’s head was whirling, all thoughts of Arden and frivolous arguments forgotten, because she’d just remembered the full line from Cassandra’s vision as it apparently referred to her:

_“Blessed Amatus will sacrifice, what once was lost will be reclaimed, but always at the cost of life.”_

If what the Doctor and Cassandra said was true, then there was no escaping it. Here, over four hundred years before her family, before Rory, before anyone even thought about her existence, she was going to die.

**~OOO~**

**So, did anyone catch that reference? I suppose it depends if anyone out there speaks Latin, or perhaps is named “Amy” and knows the history behind their name. ;) The first part of the riddle has been solved…maybe…**

 

**Please review! :)**

 


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